Winds of Destiny Blow Unexpectedly
by AgapeErosPhilia
Summary: Cullen Rutherford never went to the Inquisition - he went home. But the will of the Maker isn't so easily subverted and failures not so easily lost. When he finds an injured woman with a glowing hand in his family's woods, he's thrust back into the chaotic world he thought he'd left behind. And the first point of chaos is his heart. Based on a Facebook prompt, AU. Complete.
1. Lonely Woods

_A/N: This story is based on a prompt from the Cullenites Facebook group that I accepted and ran with probably farther than the prompter intended. Oops! The original prompt was: "After Kirkwall, Cullen declines Cassandra's offer to be Commander. He leaves the Order and returns home to the family farm. During a mission, Quizzy gets separated during an ambush. Cullen finds her injured and unconscious in the woods... This was kind of based on the idea that Cullen and Quizzy were always destined to meet."_

 _Hopefully this satisfies the prompt giver as well as anyone else who reads it! Thanks as always to anyone taking a look, FF readers are the best._

* * *

Cullen cleared out the back woods alone.

It wasn't that he didn't love his siblings. He did. And his brother-in-law, and his sister-in-law, and the nieces and nephews that came with them. He'd never once regretted his decision to turn away from the path the Divine's Right Hand had offered him in Kirkwall. Seeker Pentaghast had called him a leader and Commander, but he'd seen the truth behind the Veil of her face. If he came to this new Inquisition, she would never let him forget how badly he'd failed.

So he'd come home, where his only failure was that he hadn't been a better correspondent during his time with the Templars. They'd nursed him through his hard fight against lyrium without understanding it in the least, they'd given him occupation and purpose, and they'd never asked him to pick up a sword again.

But they also encouraged single women to stop by the house more often than any man could tolerate, so the woods and the axe he swung inside it were his sanctuary.

The woods were also terribly overgrown. They'd been his father's pride, when he lived, but after he'd died in the Blight no one had taken over the responsibility. The place was thick with dead trees, moldering leaves, and nests of animals both benign and not. Cullen enjoyed the challenge of building something intentional out of something so wild, a small patch of forest that would allow everything to survive instead of just the strongest within it. The decisions of where to cut and where to push, angling the slices a way that the felled tree would fall exactly where he wanted, and seeing new life grow in the places he cleared, were joys that never dulled.

Still, he always worked with his shirt on, regardless of the sweat that stained it and the dirty looks his nieces and nephews gave him when it was their turn for the laundry. He wouldn't put it past Mia or Alice to send the women out here to ogle him under the guise of bringing him water.

And it was while he was slicing a felled tree for firewood that he heard the unmistakable sounds of battle.

For a split second he was back in the Gallows, hearing the mages tear his fellow Templars to pieces with their own blood. The feeling was so strong, the sense of place so absolute, that he almost cried out with the fear. He shook himself free of the memory, then realized why it had come so strongly. There were demons nearby.

He almost ran home, his body tight and aching against the nightmares and day terrors that were stronger without the lyrium. This wouldn't be the first time he'd suffered in the grip of hallucination. And even if it was real, it was in him to be a coward, he knew. More then a hero. He'd learned who he was as his time in Kirkwall marched on. Cullen Rutherford was a man who saved himself by leaving.

It was only when he heard a cry, one of agony and pain, that he gripped his axe and ran towards the trouble.

He arrived at the edge of the wood just in time to watch a small figure fall underneath a green glow that vanished with a thunderclap. A pride demon, large and vicious, turned towards the unconscious figure with a satisfied chuckle, and Cullen forgot that he had no lyrium in his blood, that he hadn't fought in months, and that he was the weakest of all Templars even without those things. He charged instead.

The demon never saw him coming, or if it did it didn't care. It was focused exclusively on the body lying on the ground, even as Cullen attacked and sliced at the insubstantial giant in front of him. Only when it was almost defeated did it turn and pay him any attention at all, and Cullen wondered vaguely between strikes what it was about the still figure that fascinated a demon so much. Perhaps he was the mage who had summoned it. Or had defeated the demon's fellows. By the marks on the ground and the ichor that soaked the grass, there'd been even more Fade creatures in the area recently.

The puzzle was still unsolved when Cullen finally cut his enemy in two. The demon dissipated with a dark groan and an explosion that Cullen knew enough to back away from. He breathed out slowly and thanked the Maker, with a touch of relief, that it had only been Pride. That had never been the demon he'd had to fear.

He knelt over the person who'd drawn him to this place and saw with surprise that it was a woman, slight but strong, with a face that was striking even marked by bruises and demon's blood. She was well-armored but the armor was merely scored and twisted leather, and Cullen wondered that she'd survived the fight at all.

The leather armor soothed him as well. He'd never known a mage to wear anything but cloth, something about the Fade energies and interferences that he'd never understood. And the armor held the crest of the Inquisition, the organization that was all the better for his lack of involvement. They'd swept through this part of Ferelden recently, scouting and securing what they could, and they'd had very few mages with them at all.

Cullen thought back to his early training in first aid, so very long ago and shrouded behind other, worse memories. They'd always had healers for this sort of thing. Or medics, if the mages weren't cooperating. He did remember that he wasn't supposed to move unconscious people, if he didn't know how they'd been injured. But while she was unconscious he had no way to find out if she was safe to move.

He chewed on the problem for a minute before he reached out and gently slapped an unbruised place on her cheek. Nothing happened, and he moved his hand to a bruise before tapping her again. That woke her up, with a gasp of pain that he immediately felt sorry for, but her eyes slowly found his face. They were clouded and hazy, and he wondered if she knew where she was.

"Did you hurt your back? Or your neck?" he asked, keeping his voice unconcerned. "What happened?"

Her voice was weak and cracked, hardly more than a whisper in the woods. "Ambush. They were waiting. Dorian - where's Dorian?"

Dorian. A Tevinter name, and the Imperium held no love for the south or the Inquisition. An enemy? Perhaps the person who'd brought the demon and conjured whatever had been in the sky. But she'd said his name with concern, even caring, so perhaps he was a comrade. Or a lover. She didn't look Tevene, but stranger things had happened.

"I'll look for him," he lied easily. "But you have to tell me if you're hurt, first."

Her eyes sharpened, and he couldn't help but notice the autumn-gold flecks that warmed their brown depths as she tried to focus. "Help him," she said. "I promised him it would be safe. Please. I trust you." The focus vanished, and she stared up at the sky and blinked twice. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

She slid back into unconsciousness, but not before she tried to sit up, lifting her hand in supplication as she rolled. She ended up on her side, curled into a ball like a child stretched beside the fire in winter. A wave of sympathy rolled through him as her face relaxed from its urgent pleading into a vulnerable stillness. The Inquisition worked their scouts hard, it seemed - beyond the bruises and cuts of any soldier's life, she had what appeared to be old dirt behind her soft, shell-like ears and her leg wraps were practically in tatters. Her shaggy brown hair looked like it had been cut by the edge of a sword. In a windstorm. In full darkness.

Cullen looked back towards his house uncertainly. His siblings had been adamant that they not get involved in this war, leaving the fighting to the world that was ready for it. He'd privately, and publicly, agreed wholeheartedly. But surely an injured refugee didn't count as involvement?

It didn't matter. He couldn't leave her here. She'd said she trusted him, and it had been a very, very long time since that had been true of anyone.

* * *

To Mia's credit, she didn't protest when he carried his charge through the front door. She sat in the parlor with the two unmarried daughters of their nearest neighbor, but Cullen ignored them entirely as he explained he'd found a woman who needed help. For once the guests worked in his favor, sighing in appreciation of his gallantry, and Mia couldn't decline her own aid even if she'd wanted to. She shooed the visitors away and led Cullen to a back room usually used for guests and sent a farmhand out to fetch his brother Darren. They didn't have a healer in a place so small, but his brother served as the area's vet, and that was usually the best they could do.

To Cullen's irritation he was sent into the hall while Darren examined his new human patient and Mia assisted. He paced, only realizing belatedly that he had a tear in his pants, his hair was sticky with demon's blood, and his shirt was plastered to his chest with sweat. Perhaps it was just as well that he was in the hall.

That realization didn't stop him from pinning his brother to the wall when he finally emerged. "Is she okay? Did she wake up?" _Did she wake up and realize I wasn't there?_ is what he really wanted to know, but he kept that to himself.

"She's still unconscious," said Darren cheerfully. "But I don't think there's anything permanently broken. And she's definitely not having a foal."

Cullen glared. His brother was a good man, but his penchant for treating the world as a joke was severely trying.

"Tough room today," said Darren. "I can't find anything wrong with her. I'm not sure why she's not awake, but maybe she just needed to sleep. She looks like she's been through a hard time."

Cullen privately agreed with that assessment. "And what if she doesn't wake up?"

"Give it until the morning before you worry, okay? Or at least until dawn."

Cullen clenched his fists. He didn't know why he was so anxious that she open her eyes again, except that she was his charge. And all of his other charges had died in horrible ways that had been entirely his fault.

Darren seemed to sense his despair and his expression softened. "Hey, Cullen. Don't worry. I really think she's just resting. Mia offered to stay up with her tonight, and she'll let you know first thing if something happens. She's going all out on this nursing thing - she's even changing her into clean clothes."

A shriek from inside of the room had them both racing to the door, and Cullen shouldered his way through first. Mia held a tattered glove to her mouth, so much like their mother when she'd seen a mouse scurry across the kitchen floor that Cullen almost laughed. Until he saw the glow emanating from the bared hand that was limp on the bed.

He paled. It was an exact match to the magic he'd seen in the sky above her.

Mia turned to him with a look that was half-accusing, half-amused. "Cullen, I think you've kidnapped the Herald of Andraste."

* * *

It took some time for them to explain the magnitude of what he'd done. Cullen had heard of the Herald, in a vague, rumored way, but he'd done his best to ignore everything about the Inquisition's leadership and direction. Perhaps too successfully, he was coming to understand. His family didn't know that he'd been offered a position with them, a position of power, and each easily presented fact was a guilt he couldn't erase. The Herald was a noble woman, a youngest daughter from somewhere in the Marches, who'd been touched by Andraste in the Fade and sent to save them all from the Breach.

The Breach he knew about, of course, though it was rumored to be closed now. He wasn't sure how much he believed the rest. What he did believe was what they told him about the Inquisition's embattled status. It was besieged on all sides by enemies, from Tevinter to the Chantry to the former Circles. Even the Seekers and the Templars fought them, and they were desperate for soldiers and allies to keep them from collapsing entirely. And the woman he'd found in the woods, barely older than his younger sister, a woman with battered armor and brown pools of flickering light for eyes, was holding the world together with both hands.

Cullen could have been her general. He could have helped carry that burden instead of running from the hidden accusation in the Seeker's eyes.

But he was here and this was now. The Templars had drilled him endlessly to confront the problems in front of him, to focus on the present to the exclusion of the rest. At times that was myopia, a shared delusion that the future was easy and the past unimportant. But it did help him with decisions, and he knew two things. She'd said she'd walked into an ambush, which meant that one of her many enemies was looking for her, here. And she'd said that she trusted him.

Those two things freed him to choose. He told Mia to find another pair of gloves for the Herald and instructed both of them to keep the secret of who she was to themselves. Even Alice, their sister, couldn't know, mostly because Alice couldn't keep a secret to save her life, and their spouses were also excluded from any knowledge. The fewer people informed the better.

He wasn't worried about Mia, a woman who kept a thousand secrets every day just to keep the family spinning on its axis, but Darren tended to forget where he was when he was entertaining a room. Cullen drilled his instruction into him so many times that Darren snapped, "Both of my ears work just fine, you know."

Cullen looked at him with a hint of his old Commander's fire, and his brother fell silent.

"We're also going to keep her here, at least until she wakes up, and possibly beyond that," said Cullen.

"Surely her own people would rather care for her," said Mia. "They're far better equipped than we are."

"Ambushes start from inside information, always," said Cullen. "I'm sure most of her people are loyal. Others aren't. I don't know enough about them to choose, and I won't send her back into danger. She's too important to risk." He hadn't forgotten the hidden Dorian, a Tevene man and possible comrade who'd been mysteriously missing from the site of her battle.

Then he thought of Seeker Pentaghast, painfully upright and fiercely protective of the truth. "There is one of their ranks I would trust. I'll try to get word to her. Until then, this woman is a refugee that's staying here. Not a fighter. Just a civilian. And I still decide who knows what."

He raised his eyebrows at them both to make sure they understood. They nodded, though Darren muttered, "The Templars made you even bossier than Dad," and Mia folded her arms in a small show of rebellion.

Still, Cullen left the room mostly reassured. They didn't like to take orders any more than he did, but his family always did what was right.

* * *

He went back to the woods before darkness fell completely, moving unerringly to the place where the demon and the glow in the sky had been, and made a meticulous search of the area. He found a pair of well-crafted daggers thrown wide near where the Herald had fallen, the symbol of the Inquisition etched neatly into the handle, but no signs of any other human presence beyond his own. Cullen frowned at whatever idiot had made the decision to send someone so important out into the field without a protective guard.

He also frowned when he saw how much of the demon blood remained. This much meant a half dozen of the things had been here, if not more. He'd only seen one. And she'd been fighting alone. Just how good with the daggers was she? Or was it the glow on her hand, the touch of magic, that gave her so much strength?

He'd tucked his findings away along with his abandoned axe, still puzzling over the question, when a pair of robed men broke through the tree line and stopped short.

"Who are you?" said the taller one in a heavily accented voice. Even without the accent, Cullen recognized someone from the Imperium.

"This is my land," said Cullen in his most rural tones and drew himself up to his full height. It was technically Mia's land, but the Maker would forgive him this lie. "So my question is, who are you?"

The first man took a deep breath, but his companion laid a hand on his arm. "Pardon us, messere. We've gotten turned around," he said. His voice had almost no trace of an accent, and if Cullen hadn't known better he might have taken him for a city-raised Fereldan. A trained spy, almost certainly. "It's almost dark, and that's made my friend a little skittish."

Cullen pretended to relax. "Got it. But there's not much out here to hurt a man, if he's careful. The village is that way," he added, pointing to the southeast.

"Thank you," said the shorter man. "The kindness of Fereldan citizens lives up to its legend." He turned, then paused artfully, as though he'd just thought of something. "We had other companions we've been separated from. Another man, Tevene, with a large mustache, and a woman. Shorter, dark hair, from the Free Marches. Have they happened to stop for directions as well?"

"Haven't seen a woman," said Cullen. Another lie to add to the ledger of his forgiveness. "Did see a man, a few hours ago. Called himself Dorian. He asked where he could buy a horse."

He was swinging blindly now, but it was very important to give a predator something to chase. If they got bored, too often they stayed where they were and found a new target. He hoped Dorian wasn't actually these men's ally, whoever he was, but it was a small gamble. He'd seen the flash of a magic amulet under the taller man's robe, and mages had other ways of communicating with friends if they wanted to talk.

And it paid off. The two men gave each other a significant look and the shorter one said, "Do you happen to know where he went? We're anxious to find the rest of our party."

"Can't help you, I'm afraid," said Cullen. He spit on the ground, a parody of the raw bumpkin image that was well-known among the sophisticate countries, and he was rewarded with a dismissive wince from the taller man. "We didn't have any for sale, so he left. Might have tried another farm. Might have tried the village. Might have found the mail coach, maybe. We told him about that."

"And where does that go?"

"Picks up about a mile away," said Cullen, pointing to the north east.

"Thank you, messere," said the shorter man, turning around to stare. "Thank you very much."

Cullen called after them as they left, "My pleasure! And don't worry about the dark, serahs!"

* * *

They had one more visitor that night. After full dark, just as Cullen was about to check on Mia and the sleeping Herald before trying to find his own rest, a knock came at the front door. Alice answered it with her boundless enthusiasm, then yelled back into the house, "It's for you!"

He grimaced, sure it was one of the enterprising farmer's daughters, but to his surprise Alice was waiting in the hall with a fluttering hand over her heart, which she certainly never would have done for any local visitor. "He's so handsome," she whispered as she danced back into the house.

Cullen opened the door curiously and blinked in surprise. He'd half-expected the mysterious Dorian, mustache and all, but instead it was a wiry elf with a bald head that shined in the moonlight. He wore no magical amulets, no rings, nothing but a wolf's tooth on a cord around his neck, but Cullen didn't need any of that to scent the Fade on him.

When Cullen's lip curled, the elf smiled and stared up at him. "Hello. My name is Solas. I'm searching for a woman who may have been lost somewhere around here."

"Can't say I've seen any strange women around here recently. What's she look like?" asked Cullen, trying to radiate helpful imbecility.

This man was less gullible, or less inclined to stereotypes, than the two Tevinter men, based on his amused violet eyes. But he still said, "She is human, of medium-height, with dark hair and eyes. She speaks with a faint Marcher accent, though she may sound Orlesian at times. She's likely carrying daggers and wearing leather armor marked by the Inquisition."

Cullen shrugged. "No one like that in these parts, I'm afraid. I'll keep an eye out."

Solas smiled once more. "Don't you wish to know why I'm looking for her? All of your neighbors asked."

"I'm sure they'll tell me what you told them," said Cullen. "But if you'll excuse me, Solas, I was about to hit the sack."

The elf didn't move, staring through him. Cullen noticed, uncomfortably, that his gaze was pointing directly to the guest room where the Herald slept. The hairs on Cullen's neck raised as the air around him turned predatory. "If I told you I was with the Inquisition, would that help?" asked Solas.

"Even the Inquisition can't make memories where there are none," said Cullen, dropping the rural Fereldan act. "I haven't seen this woman." He paused. "But if you are with the Inquisition, please send word to Seeker Pentaghast that I would like to speak with her. I knew her, once, and would like to renew the acquaintance."

Solas looked at him sharply, assessing him the same way a cat eyed a mouse. "And the name I should give this Seeker?"

"Cullen Rutherford," he answered, reluctantly.

"Truly?" asked Solas with a hint of surprise. His face settled into a neutral expression. "I see. Yes. That is perhaps for the best, then."

Subtlety had never been Cullen's strong suit, and all he knew was that he wanted this all-too-knowing elf far away from here. "The village inn will stand you for the night, free of charge. Just give them my name. Good night."

He tried to shut the door, but Solas held it open with a surprising ease. "Thank you, but I'm more at home in the woods," he said. His eyes twinkled. "I perhaps should have also mentioned that my quarry is a beautiful chaos, the sort of woman who could easily touch a chivalrous man's heart."

Cullen glared and finally won the battle for the door. As it closed, he heard the elf add, "If you do see her, take care to guard yours."


	2. Sweet Dreams

The Herald slept without waking.

Neither Mia nor Darren knew her true name, so Cullen had nothing else to call her but Herald. He vaguely regretted not asking Solas, but it might have shown more interest than was wise. Not that the elven mage hadn't seemed to know everything about everything anyway. Smug bastard.

Cullen looked in on her before he went to bed, but he didn't stay long under Mia's hawk-like gaze. When he woke at dawn after a night of broken sleep, he went directly to her room to spell his sister. To his surprise, Darren was the one there, dozing lightly in a wing-backed chair. His brother must have stayed the night instead of walking the half-mile to his own dwelling, and Cullen could think of only one reason he would do that.

Cullen shook him awake without any attempt at gentleness. "Is something wrong with her?" he asked in a low, urgent voice. He swatted away his brother's attempt to push him off.

"She's fine," said Darren, his eyes still closed as he fought a losing battle to stay asleep. "You, on the other hand, are annoying. And rude. And the worst brother I've ever had."

Cullen sighed in relief and released his brother's arm. "Go home. Go to bed," said Cullen. "I'll take over."

Darren sighed. "By the time I get there, I'll be too awake to enjoy it," he said, but he struggled to a standing position anyway.

He walked over to the low, narrow bed and took the Herald's pulse. Nodding minutely, he moved on to her head, feeling the bones there with delicate fingers, then ran his hands over the planes of her face, opening her eyes to look for whatever clues a medical man could find in them.

When he stared into them a little too long, Cullen frowned, and when Darren reached down to lift her shirt, he growled outright.

Darren chuckled lightly. "I am married, Cullen. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"You shouldn't invade her privacy."

"Patients have no privacy from their doctors," said Darren. He looked back at Cullen seriously. "Especially when they may be bleeding internally without being able to tell me about it."

Cullen relaxed, a little ashamed, but any shame was erased when his brother winked at him. "You, on the other hand, have no medical expertise at all. Maybe you shouldn't be here for the examination, hm?"

Cullen folded his arms in response, though he did look away, and Darren laughed again. After a few minutes of gentle work, he rocked back and settled her clothing over her again. "She seems sound. I'll be at the house if you need me, unless the Martin brothers' heifer takes a bad turn. Which she always does, somehow, on days when Alice is assisting me," said Darren sourly. "And Mia will be back later today, she said."

"I'll be fine," said Cullen, already moving the chair closer to the bed to settle in. The Herald's thick hair was mussed from Darren's explorations, and Cullen smoothed some of it away from her face. His fingers caught in a tangled strand, and he slowly worked it apart as he watched her face for signs of pain. There was a fading bruise under her jaw that looked like a caught elbow and another on her cheek that could have been from any number of blunt objects. Her features were delicate and well-formed, but her nose showed clear signs of a healed break, and there was a split in her lower lip that would likely scar. She looked more like a street fighter than a noble, and he wondered why a gently-reared girl who fought with daggers would be in the center of so many brawls.

He'd moved on to another tangle when there was a cough from the doorway. Cullen spun towards the sound, half-ready to fight. He'd already forgotten his brother was in the room.

Darren held his hands up in exhausted surrender. "I can see she's in good hands," he said. He smirked in that annoying younger brother way that Cullen remembered vividly from his childhood. "She's very pretty, isn't she? Watch yourself."

He slipped out of the room before Cullen could find something to throw at him.

* * *

The guest room was where they stored their books, mostly children's stories that his father had read to them when they were huddled up against the darkness, and after an hour of sitting in meditation, Cullen finally gave in and cracked the spine of the largest. It was a collection of tales about knights and princesses that all had happy endings. He was restless, and perhaps reading aloud to the Herald would speed her recovery.

He started hesitantly but read more quickly as he went, caught up in the romance and adventure of the half-remembered stories. Cullen recalled being more absorbed with the dragon fights than the courtship in his youth, picturing himself as a knight errant ridding the land of its greatest threats. Now, a little guiltily, he found himself casting his role very differently. And, even more shamefully, he wasn't alone in his imaginations. The Herald was a noble, and it was easy to imagine her dancing gracefully in spun silk at the stories' balls. And he was the one she danced with, though he no more knew how to dance than he knew how to fly.

And when the balls were over they fought the dragons side by side, in his mind.

The Herald never stirred, even though he checked her for signs of consciousness frequently. There were times he thought he caught the barest hint of a smile on her lips, but it was so slight that he never trusted his foolish hopes that he would see the shining lights of her eyes once more. That she would wake softly and gently, that she would be grateful and he tender. That there would be something precious and lost found inside of him.

In the back of his mind he knew he was being ridiculous. And not only ridiculous, but possibly deranged, no better than the men who called at the women who passed them on the street. She was a stranger. He'd barely spoken to her and knew nothing of what she was like. Nothing of her mind or her spirit. Nothing except she was a fierce fighter, and a holy icon, and hunted. Nothing except she was a woman who trusted him to keep her promises with only a glance. Nothing except she was striking enough to set his heart on fire with that same glance.

He growled in frustration and realized his fists were clenched so tightly around the book that he was leaving fingermarks on the pages. The knock at the door was almost a relief. Then Mia walked in with a secret smile, and he was less relieved. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "You don't need to take my place."

"I would never have suggested it," she said. She closed the door softly with her foot and thrust a tray towards him. "I am going to suggest that you need to eat, however."

He looked at the tray, which was heaped with sandwiches and pastries, as well as two bowls of thick soup. "Do you think I've been killing bandits in here? I could never finish that."

"If she wakes up, she'll want it," said Mia, and he nodded reluctantly. She glanced at the book he held and smiled. "Are those Dad's old fairy tales?"

"I needed something to do."

"Of course," she said. She crept to the door after laying the tray next to him, then turned back. She looked so much like Darren as she grinned that he blinked. "I recommend Sleeping Beauty, next."

* * *

Cullen skipped that particular story, less because he was afraid he would attempt to kiss her awake - even his disobedient heart wasn't that unruly - but because he didn't want to encourage her in her lengthy slumber. And never mind how little sense that made.

He'd begun to drop off into his own nap, the book sliding from his fingers, when Darren banged his way back into the room. He nearly lost his life for the privilege as Cullen instinctively threw what he held at the intruder's head.

"Good morning, sunshine," said Darren, dodging easily. "How's our patient?"

"Fine," grumbled Cullen as his brother began another examination. Cullen walked over to pick up the thrown volume. No tears or marks, or at least no more than there already had been from small, anxious hands. It was hard to damage something so well-worn. He'd even found some notes his father had scribbled in the margins about farming inaccuracies, and Cullen wondered if anyone would mind if he did the same regarding fighting techniques.

But he forgot all about it when he saw Darren frowning over the Herald. "Something isn't right," he said, and Cullen's heart leapt in fear. "She should be awake by now. If there's something wrong with her brain… swelling… I'm not sure I know enough to heal her. They'll need to relieve the pressure. I've seen it done once, in Denerim. It looked difficult."

"How did they do it?"

Darren deliberately didn't look at him. "Well, they made a hole in the skull -"

Cullen opened his mouth to cut his brother off with exactly what he thought of that idea, when the Herald's eyes flew open. Even beneath the gloves they'd given her, Cullen could see the mark on her hand flaring wildly as she struggled to sit up.

She locked on Darren first. "Who are you?" she demanded, in tones of command that would have even jaded, veteran soldiers snapping to attention. "Where am I?" There was anger on her face when she looked down at herself. "And where is my armor?"

Cullen didn't move, stunned into immobility. Her voice had been hoarse and distant in the woods, but he remembered it as melodious, a musical sound that flitted around his heart like a hummingbird to a flower. This was more like Meredith had sounded near the end, irascible and never pleased.

The Herald's eyes snapped to him, once, before going back to Darren. "Did you _change_ my _clothes_?" she asked. Now she wasn't commanding but outraged, and when Darren started to protest that he hadn't, he made the unwise decision to reach out to soothe his patient, just like Cullen had seen him do with countless horses as he worked.

But she was no horse, and as his hand drifted towards her, her own snaked out and neatly broke his finger.

* * *

Darren's howl brought Cullen out of his stupor, and he was already pulling his brother away when Mia burst through the door. The presence of a woman seemed to startle the Herald, especially one who was half-covered in flour and dragging a toddler behind her like a lost pup. "What are you two doing in here?" she asked, her own voice lacking the military flavor of the newly awoken woman, but eerily similar beyond that. "The poor thing is injured and you're roughhousing?"

Mia's son burst into tears at that moment, calling for a promised cookie, nearly drowning out Darren's gritted, "That 'poor thing' broke my finger!" And despite his brother's broken bone, despite the terrifying power of their patient, and despite the vague ache that her eyes held no more warm golden flecks, Cullen almost laughed at the baffled expression on the Herald's face.

"I'm sure it's fine," said Mia, grabbing at Darren's hand indiscriminately, eliciting a fresh howl of protest and another scream from the child.

Cullen stepped back and let the two of them go at it. Had they been Templars under his command, he would have smacked their heads together until they saw sense, but one didn't do that with siblings. Apparently. And once Alice skidded in the room, there was nothing for it but to let them tire themselves out. Instead he turned back to the Herald, who'd given up all pretense of questioning and was staring with undisguised confusion at the family squabble.

She caught his movement and looked at him with suspicion. "You're not Venatori," she said through the din.

"I don't even know what that means," he said.

Darren called out from scrum, "We've always kept a very hygienic house, I can tell you that. Hey! Stop touching it! Get me a splint or something."

The Herald held the glowing hand up to her forehead. "Have I gone into the future again?" she asked, almost to herself. She looked around at the room doubtfully. "This can't be the Fade."

"No, this is reality. I've never met a demon as dumb as my fully-grown siblings," said Cullen. He twisted to avoid Alice's haphazard kick.

And it was worth it, because the Herald snorted and gave him a wry smile, one that cleared the suspicion from the brown pools of her eyes. "Meet a lot of demons around here, do you?"

Cullen's stomach twisted. "Not here," he said shortly. He turned back to the scrapping group, who finally seemed to be winding down, including his nephew who'd run out of air to scream with. "Alice, set Darren's hand. Darren, go somewhere else to have that happen. Mia, feed your child."

For once they didn't argue as they shuffled out, though he heard them muttering about their high-handed brother, and he was sure he heard Alice blow a raspberry at him as he clicked the door shut. He locked it behind them, then turned around to see wariness back on the patient's face.

"Why did you lock it?"

He leaned against the door in his most relaxed posture to make her feel more comfortable. "Because the only key to this door is somewhere on the keyrings in the cellar. There are spiders down there, so Darren won't get it, and it's dark, so Alice won't even open the door, and Mia won't want to spend the time searching," he said. "And trust me, you'll be happier with them locked out."

She laughed, and the music was back and warming his heart. She was even more beautiful awake.

"If you're enemy agents trying to pretend to be harmless, you're by far the most convincing I've ever met," she said. "I suppose that should worry me more, but if you're that skilled I'm already dead."

"You're safe, Herald," he said. "I promise. From enemy agents, anyway. My helpful sisters I make no claim for."

She stiffened at the title, as he'd known she would, but it wouldn't do to let her think she was anonymous. That would only breed more mistrust when she learned she wasn't later. But to his surprise, she relaxed. "I do trust you," she said, and Cullen felt another burst of pleasure. "The Venatori are never this nuanced. I don't think they have it in them."

"Who are the Venatori, exactly?"

She ran a hand through her hair, mussing it all over again, and he was glad he'd combed out most of the tangles. "A bunch of crazy mages from Tevinter," she said. "They want to destroy the world and set themselves up as the gods of the ruins."

"Is Dorian one?" he asked cautiously.

"You know Dorian? Is he here?" she asked, moving to roll herself off the bed.

"No, to both," he said, and she slumped back. "You mentioned him. Before you passed out. In the woods."

"What woods?" she asked. But even as she said it she was already gazing into the middle distance in horror. "Oh Maker, does the Inquisition know I'm here?"

"No, Herald," he said. He wondered if it was blasphemy for the messenger of Andraste to take the Maker's name in vain. "I've tried to get word to Seeker Pentaghast, but I'm sure it hasn't reached her yet."

The horror intensified. "You told _Cassandra_ where I am?" She started lifting the blankets and pillows, searching frantically. "My armor is around here somewhere, right? And my weapons?"

"I found your daggers," said Cullen, completely mystified. "They're with my own weapons. And I cleaned your armor last evening. But like I said, I don't believe the Seeker is aware of your specific location. I only told Solas that I wanted to get in touch with her, and though he may have suspected your presence he didn't actually know you were here."

That stopped her search. "You talked to Solas?" she asked. If anything she sounded more flabbergasted than ever. "And he just left me here? Are you sure it was him?"

Cullen's temper finally broke, very gently. None of this first awakening had gone at all like he'd pictured it, she was acting like he'd betrayed her in some way, and now she was questioning him as though he was a child. And, most annoying of all, the way that she drew her brows down over her eyes when she was confused was beyond distracting.

He advanced on her, and to his mild surprise she didn't draw away. "I've never met any of these people. He was bald elf and an arrogant bastard, so you tell me."

"That was definitely him," she muttered. "But why would he leave me here, in possible danger?"

Cullen frowned, ready to tell her that he wasn't as dangerous as all that, when her eyes widened. "Oh no," she said. She peered into the corner of the room and focused intently on the peeling paint. "Cole? Are you there?"

Maybe the unknown head injury had been worse than he thought. Maybe he should have let someone drill into her skull. "There's no one here, Herald. And there's no one named Cole in my family in any case."

"Stop calling me by my title," she said absently, eyes still sweeping the room. "What kind of clandestine safe house are you running here, anyway? Even Cassandra, the least subtle woman on earth, knows better than that. And it's not even my right title anymore."

"But I don't know your name!"

She finally abandoned her scrutiny of the wall and stared at him. "You don't even know my name? Maker save me, I really have become a symbol," she said. She sat up straight and gave him a blinding smile that took his breath away for all it was clearly rehearsed. "I'm Evelyn, youngest daughter of Bann Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, newly-minted Inquisitor, and sometimes captive of handsome Fereldan men and their lunatic families. Nice to meet you. You are Fereldan, aren't you? The accent seems right. What's your name?"

Cullen was still trying to find his composure when the lock on the door behind him snicked open quietly. Before he could turn back to hold it shut with force, it swung open and closed of its own accord, as though by a swirling wind that didn't exist. And then it locked again, which no wind had ever done in the entire history of Thedas.

"Cole, that isn't polite," said Evelyn. She sounded like he did when he told his niece to stop jumping on the bed, but there was still no one there.

Until there was. A thin boy in an enormous hat suddenly appeared in front of him, and Cullen scrambled backwards. "There was screaming, and he locked me out," said the new visitor, presumably Cole.

Cullen stared, then turned back to Evelyn, who gave him a triumphant look that boiled his blood. "What in the Void is going on?" he asked patiently, but even he could hear the sound of his already snapped temper ready to explode.

She sighed faintly and patted the bed. "You might want to sit down. This could take awhile."


	3. Twisted Stories

Evelyn was a terrible storyteller.

"Well, first, I'm with the Inquisition, though I guess you already knew that. How long have I been out? I don't even remember what happened. Anyway, I was here, in Ferelden, on Inquisition business - though not business that I wanted to be here on, I can tell you that straightaway - but I took a little side trip with Dorian. He needed to meet someone, only he didn't know he needed to meet him, and he's probably pretty irritated with me right now wherever he is. I chased him, but I don't remember the woods, whatever you meant by that. Just chasing and then nothing. Cassandra won't like any of this. Maker save me. Are you sure she doesn't know where I am yet?"

Cullen stared at her from the wing-backed chair throughout the tumbling river of her speech, swirling and eddying from pool to pool without any semblance of order. She never gave him a chance to answer any of her half-formed questions, moving along to another topic before he'd had time to absorb the current one, and she wasn't giving him any new information whatsoever. To his tabular and quiet mind, it was like listening to a story in a tornado. Infuriating, random, and more confusing than nothing at all.

And utterly enchanting. He surrendered himself to the torrent and watched her gnaw at her lip in between rapid sentences and new ideas. Gone was the commanding firebrand, replaced by this worried ball of energy fretting the blanket and thinking even faster than she spoke. A fine line appeared in the center of her forehead, and he longed to smooth it away with his finger. Instead he sat back and lost another piece of his heart.

"She'll probably put me in the stocks or something. 'Never compromise this cause' and all of that. She's even more stern than my mother planning a ball, and that was stern enough to make your toes curl. Anyway. Where was I? Right, I was here in Ferelden. I am still in Ferelden? By the way, I never found out your name. I can't just keep calling you 'The Handsome Blonde Man' in my head. Oh! And Solas is probably still lurking somewhere, isn't he? Where are those woods you mentioned? He likes nature."

When she stopped speaking and gave him an expectant look, he was so startled at the silence that his mouth dropped open. Evelyn didn't seem to notice his loss, quietly waiting for him to answer one of the dozen questions that she'd left behind her like the breadcrumbs in the children's tale. He glanced at the room's other occupant, but Cole was picking up every knick-knack on the nearby dresser and examining it like a merchant appraising it for sale. There was no help there.

Cullen started with the most recent answer as a safe bet for her pause. "There are a few acres of woods to the north of here, past the fields."

Evelyn snapped her fingers and turned to Cole. "Please go tell him I'm fine," she said. "I'm sure he's worrying like a spinster aunt out there. And tell him there's someone who needs to be healed here. Not me! But I broke someone's finger." She looked down and picked at the blanket again. "I need to apologize to him, I think."

Cole cocked his head to the side curiously. "Breaking fingers is an easy apology, a quick and quiet word. Breaking promises is harder, shifting sands that bury the sorry."

Evelyn sighed. "I know. But please, find Solas."

Before Cole could leave, Cullen held up his hand. "What is he, and why should I let him have free rein of my house?"

"I'm not a ghost," said Cole helpfully.

There was no response to that, and Cullen didn't attempt one.

Evelyn gave him another reassuring look that was beyond terrifying. Cullen was coming to realize that when she felt the pull to calm one fear, it was because there were a hundred others waiting to be discovered. "He's my ally. He's not dangerous."

As though that explained anything at all.

"Don't worry, the fingers of your family won't be frightened," said Cole. "I help people. Should I be invisible again?"

Evelyn nodded, and the boy winked out of existence before the door opened and closed once more. Cullen didn't bother to get up and lock it, instead pinning Evelyn with a look. It must have been intimidating, because for the first time she shrank away. "He's a demon," he said flatly.

"No! He's not, I swear," she said. "He's just… lost. He didn't ask for this. Please trust me."

And that was beyond unfair, because what else could he do but nod?

They sat in silence for a long time, both evaluating each other. Cullen had a thousand questions, but he wasn't sure if his need for understanding would win out over his trepidation that she might actually answer them.

"What's your name?" she asked suddenly. "I know the rest - Mia and Darren and Alice - but I still don't know who you are."

Cullen flushed under her admiring gaze, remembering that she'd twice called him handsome and wondering if that was ploy or truth. "Cullen," he said, clearing his throat. "Cullen Rutherford."

"Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford?"

"I'm no longer a Templar," he said, feeling the involuntary stiffening of his back, but it didn't matter. A blend of relief and annoyance was already spreading across her face, and to his surprise she blushed a deep, burning crimson. He would have bet, if he were a betting man, that she didn't know how to blush.

"At least Cassandra probably won't put me in the stocks now," she murmured. She launched herself out of bed with speed and rearranged her clothing as best she could, which wasn't very well considering Mia was at least a half a foot taller and rather curvier than Evelyn's compact fighter's build. He still swallowed heavily when she finally focused her full attention on him and he saw the indomitable Herald enter her face again.

"Ser Rutherford," she said with formal ceremony, "I would like to recruit you to the Inquisition, to the position of Commander of its forces. Will you answer the needs of Thedas and serve?"

* * *

Before he could give a loud, clear no, never in a thousand years, the door flew open again. Evelyn groaned in frustration and whirled around to yell at the elf who stood framed in it. "Solas! I was trying to make an impressive effect."

Solas didn't answer her, only strode across the floor and waited. She sighed and stripped off the glove she wore, holding up her hand for his inspection. He took it easily and led her back to the bed, sitting next to her and stroking the glowing mark with his finger.

Cullen shifted at the caresses, and Solas looked at him in sharp amusement. "I see that you haven't guarded as you should have."

"I guard just fine," said Evelyn, saving Cullen from replying. "I don't know what happened, but I'm sure it wasn't my fault."

The mage rolled his violet eyes in a mirror of Cullen's own feeling. "There were eight spirits that crossed the Veil in that clearing, _lethallan_. Even the Venatori do not summon so many on a whim."

"There was a green glow in the sky," said Cullen, and both of them turned to stare at him. He continued uncomfortably, "Like your hand. It vanished, with a loud noise, just as I got there."

"You opened a rift?" Solas asked in the tones of a hectoring Chantry Mother. He stood and paced. "As though it's not difficult enough to close them all without you adding to the work!"

"I don't remember!" said Evelyn heatedly. She thrust her hand out towards him. "You try controlling this thing for awhile. It's bad enough that I'm here without any memory of anything without you walking in and treating me like a puppy that keeps crapping on the floor. I'm doing my best!"

Cullen's heart squeezed at the tears that were hiding in her voice, but Solas seemed unmoved. "You must do better," he said.

"Now you sound like Cassandra," she said, folding her arms.

"Then I'm pleased to know you're receiving such wise counsel from others as well."

An angry silence fell between them, until Solas said, "We've yet to hear from Dorian. Where is he?"

Evelyn's face suddenly sharpened, losing the petulant quality she'd been nursing. "What do you mean you haven't heard from him? He said he was going back to the main contingent."

"If that is true, he never arrived."

She flew out of the bed and pointed at Cullen. "Get me my armor and my daggers. Now. I'm going to find him."

"You can't," said both Cullen and Solas in chorus.

They looked at each other in shock, but it didn't matter because Evelyn didn't hear them. "I can't believe you let me sleep when he was missing," she said to the elf through gritted teeth. Cullen felt the unspoken fear of death hovering behind her. "You heartless bastard."

"You were healing, _lethallan_ ," said Solas patiently. "I could sense your life but not your awareness. Cole was quite sure you could not be woken until it was time. Besides, it was no natural sleep. The anchor requires a delicate touch. And you are still not as steady as you pretend."

Cullen looked at her in alarm, and she slashed a furious arm between them, as though to wipe away his concern. "Get moving, Knight-Commander."

He answered her challenging stare with one of his own. "There are people looking for you. People from the Imperium. It's not safe for you to leave." He didn't mention that they were also looking for Dorian, guessing that would only make her more determined to go.

"You saw them? The Venatori?" asked Solas with a slight crack in his imperturbable calm.

"I don't know," said Cullen. "I still don't know what that means. But at least one was a mage, and they were definitely Tevene. They asked after the Herald in the woods where I found her. She'd told me she'd been ambushed, so I sent them after a false scent. I don't know how long it will fool them." He looked directly at Solas. "Ambushes are usually based on inside information."

Evelyn shook her head in confusion. "I don't remember an ambush. We were in Redcliffe, the last I remember."

"This is Honnleath," said Cullen. "A good distance. And lots of open, uninhabited land between. You can't go out there until you know who to trust." Again he gave Solas a meaningful look.

Solas laughed lightly and waved his suspicious glare aside. "I have no reason to harm the Inquisitor. More to the point, it was impossible for the information to come from anyone highly placed inside the Inquisition, as none of us knew where she went. Which is why we've been so frantic to find her. Or Dorian, to lead us to her," he said. He looked back at the suddenly pale woman behind him. "Dorian was the only one who could have betrayed you."

She shook her head. "No. He would never. He's the one who brought the Venatori to our attention. He's risked his life for this."

"That could be a clever infiltration," said Cullen, and Solas didn't disagree. "If he was truly concerned with your safety, he would never have let you slip your guards to accompany him." And any guards who let such an important charge slip past them were barely worthy of the name, but that he kept to himself.

"I made him," said Evelyn. "He didn't want to go at all. It was… personal. We were going to meet his family, but I didn't want the Inquisition to know we were meeting with someone from Tevinter. Dorian didn't even know where we were going until we got there. Only I knew."

"And your contacts from Tevinter," Cullen pointed out. "And the Inquisition leaders may be lying about their own ignorance."

"Possibly," said Solas dismissively. "Spies may well exist on both sides. Either way, the Inquisitor must remain here. Both to heal and to hide. I'll inform the Nightingale that we need to focus the search for Dorian somewhere along the route to Redcliffe, and that there may be enemy agents in the area. An Inquisition guard in this place will be too conspicuous, but Cole and I will remain. Cassandra, too, is already en route, with the cover of Ser Rutherford's recruitment to mask her movements. Among the three of us, we should be sufficient protection."

"Four," said Cullen sharply, ignoring the mention of his recruitment. "My sword arm isn't that rusty. And I know the land better than you."

Solas nodded. "As you wish."

Evelyn's mouth had dropped open in outrage long ago, but only then did she find her voice. "I'm the leader here."

"And do you disagree with these orders?" asked the elf.

"No," she said slowly. "She'll probably be a more effective and less conspicuous searcher than I would be. And I want Dorian found." She glared at them both. "But you can't tell anyone in the Inquisition why I left. About Dorian, and his family, or any of it. Promise me. And that you'll tell me as soon as he's located."

Cullen said nothing, and Solas gave her an exasperated look. "I will give your advisors any information that I think they need to aid you, _lethallan_. Regarding Dorian's recovery, however, that I will swear to relay to you. Regardless of what side he is discovered on."

"But they'll be so angry with me," she said to herself, then sighed in acceptance. Her expression turned plaintive. "Can I have my daggers, at least?"

Solas shook his head emphatically, and she stamped her foot. When her doe-eyes turned on him, Cullen grinned for the first time. She looked exactly like his younger sister when she wanted the last pastry on the tray, and he knew how to deal with that kind of manipulation. "Only if you're a good patient," he said. "And I'll decide what good means."

An annoyed look replaced her pleading. "That's not fair," she said. "If I were a man, you wouldn't coddle me like this."

"I would treat any leader foolish enough to slip their protection for a personal matter, or to meet potential enemies in an unknown location, with the censure he or she deserved," said Cullen. When she folded her arms, he added, "Besides, if you were a man, there would be a very different Rutherford sibling in here caring for you. And you haven't officially met her yet, but Alice would be even stricter than me."

Evelyn laughed, and it was like the dancing of light through crystals. Cullen was fervently glad she would be staying, even for a short time. He would never allow the Inquisition to be burdened by his past, but he would enjoy her company for as long as he could before Thedas claimed her talents for its own once more.

"I think I'll stick with you," she said with a wink. "I like your countenance. And you have a very soothing voice when you read."

Cullen looked down at the discarded children's stories and blushed. Then he frowned. "If you heard me reading, why were you so worried we were enemies? Do your captors often end their days of torture with a fairy tale?"

"No," said Evelyn. "I thought I was dreaming them, from my childhood. I only realized it was happening now, and it was you, when you said I was safe. When you promised it. I remembered your voice. That's what the hero said to the maiden after he fought off the dragon in the Grey Warden tale."

Cullen blushed harder and stared furiously at the cover of the book, but he saw her smile out of the corner of his eye. He slowly realized that he still understood almost none of what had happened, nor what would happen, but he was curiously reluctant to explore further. Part of her magic, perhaps.

And the Herald was obviously too exhausted to indulge him anyway. Solas gave her a significant look as she swayed slightly, and she sat back down on the bed and drew the covers over her. A green glow emanated from the elf, not the alien light she carried but the softer touch of healing.

She closed her eyes and said, "Please come back and read more. You're very calming."

He agreed with a light heart and turned to leave as Cole the not-demon shuffled back in, now fully visible. When Cullen was at the door, he heard Evelyn murmur, "I'm more like the dragons than the maidens, though. Fair warning."

* * *

They didn't have much time for reading, because Evelyn hated sitting idle almost as much as Cullen did. As soon as Solas pronounced her mobile, and as soon as Darren had forgiven her for her warlike reflexes, Cullen became her unofficial tour guide to Honnleath and the Rutherford steading. Mostly the steading, as he didn't let her wander too far into the town proper. Too many eyes meant too many tongues and too many angles for them to cover. Solas agreed with his usual finality. Evelyn chafed at the restrictions and called them all names he was sure she hadn't picked up from her governesses, but Cullen was an old hand with groaning recruits and never relented.

And when he gave her back her daggers, he made sure Solas was nowhere to be seen.

They spent much of their time in the woods, where he continued to work with her assistance. If he stuck to his routine, the neighbors would lose interest in the small excitement of a wounded woman's recovery. Maker knew they'd seen enough refugees over the years, and strangers weren't encouraged in the area. Too much death followed behind them. The only change in his trips was the sword that now lived on his hip as he walked, an unfamiliar weight that he'd never realized was so much a part of him until it returned.

The Herald asked him to show her his skill with it, but that he wouldn't do. Partially because he feared he no longer had any, despite his words, but mostly because weapons were always more shame than pride to those who'd used them best.

Solas prowled in steady perimeters as they worked, and Evelyn became a very useful set of hands in Cullen's efforts. The Nightingale, whoever that was, was still searching, and they had to pass the time somehow. One day Cullen explained to Evelyn in detail his plan for a section of woods, how he would clear a dead tree and a living one alongside that was growing too unsteadily to support the life around it, and where the branches would fall and how the dead logs could serve in new ways. He only stopped when he saw his rapt audience cover a smile with her hand.

"What?" he said, flushing under her amused eyes.

"Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"So deliberate," said Evelyn. She perched on a trunk that had fallen at a perfect height for a bench and swept her heavily wrapped hand toward the trees around her. "Every step accounted for, every eventuality considered, every benefit and every cost indexed before the first step."

"You make me sound so dull," he said, but he couldn't stop a smile when she tossed her head.

The smile died when she spoke. "Of course you aren't. I was just thinking that if you're this good at marshaling trees, you must be a tremendous commander of men."

"Leave it alone, Herald." Cullen had given her a firm no when she'd renewed her question of recruitment, and in what he was rapidly coming to think of as her natural fashion, she hadn't given up trying to approach the topic in other ways. She only saw the benefits of his service. He didn't know how to explain to her the costs without losing her regard entirely and instead settled for having her think of him as the stubbornest man in Thedas. The silver lining was that their impasses usually ended with her flirting, which he enjoyed very much.

Not that it signified anything. The ease at which she did it spoke of long practice, and he wasn't so foolish to think she was serious. He'd realized early on that her flirtations were the way she pushed worry and fear away from her mind. And they would part soon enough. But she had a sweet smile and a devilish smirk that both quickened his pulse, and he cherished each one she gave him even as he hid his unworthy thoughts as best he could.

"So formal in public," she said with a tsk of disapproval as she grinned. "What would our elven chaperone say of you uttering my title so casually, ser?"

"He would say you're the most irritating woman he's ever known and forgive me my temper."

Evelyn only laughed, and Cullen thought with sour affection that she must hear similar sentiments from her advisors all of the time. She hopped down from her seat and brushed her pants off while Cullen tried not to watch her. "I only think it's a shame for you to waste your grand potential. Much as it is shameful for me," she said. "Show me how to use that thing."

He stared at her blankly until he realized she was looking at the axe. "I don't know that that's wise," he said.

"Wisdom is overrated," she said brightly, and a passing Solas sighed heavily and shook his head. "Come on, I'm good with my daggers. I can handle that hunk of steel. Especially with someone so experienced and adept to teach me his skillful ways."

Evelyn batted her eyes and then gave him the lingering once-over that was her stock-in-trade. It was a look he still hadn't learned to take with the stoicism he needed, and he felt the redness on his face. It was extremely unfair that she could insult him and flatter him almost in the same breath.

Even more unfairly, she simply waited expectantly for him to give in to what she wanted, which was growing more and more common. He never felt his age more keenly or his youth more brightly than when the lights in her eyes flashed a pleased gold at his capitulation to her desires.

She laughed when he held out the axe. "Do you play Wicked Grace?" she asked as she took it.

"I prefer chess."

"Of course you do." Evelyn twirled the axe like it was a dagger and nearly dropped it on her foot. Cullen winced as she gave him an embarrassed look. "Sorry. So, Great and Wise Master Rutherford, what do I do?"

He motioned her over to a fallen trunk in need of chopping and showed her how to swing the axe overhead, using her body instead of only her arms, and to strike in the same place truly each time. She bit her lip and followed where he pointed with an intense focus that belied her usually careless manner. Cullen wondered if the casual attitudes and the effortless charm were holdovers from her childhood, a time when she was expected to be innocent decoration. For when she was focused, or angry, there was something very formidable about her sharpened mind.

It was little wonder her cause had done so well for itself.

Only when he placed his hands over hers to show her a better grip did the concentration give way to another smile. She looked up at him impishly. "A pity we have to wear these gloves," she said.

"It's like any weapon," said Cullen. "Without gloves your hands would grow blistered and raw, and you'd be useless for days."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Can you stop being so practical and flirt back with me?" she asked. Her voice was teasing, but her face was a little uncertain. "At least once? I'm starting to think you find me absolutely repulsive."

"You're beautiful," said Cullen without thinking. His hands were still over hers, and he flexed his fingers before drawing away. "My apologies. I'm not much for flirtation."

The spot of color on her cheeks almost made his slip worth it. "It's fine. I shouldn't have asked you to. Forgive me," she said. "And, ah, thank you."

"You're welcome," he said inanely. He winced, but fortunately she'd looked back towards the log at her feet. He cast about for something more, then said the first thing that came to mind. "Why is your hair like that?"

"Like what?" asked Evelyn, reaching a hand up to smooth over her scalp. "Oh. The haircut. There's a girl we recruited a few months ago. An elf, city raised. We don't have much in common, and I was trying to win her to our side more fully. She's a good person, I think, but unstable. Hard to pin down. This was her attempt at styling me, and it looks a lot like her own hair. Which means a mess."

Cullen hid a laugh with a cough. "You'll sacrifice much for the Inquisition, it seems. Letting go of the superficial to win what's truly important is a sign of a good leader. I'm sure your advisors were proud of you."

She scowled. "Some of them are a little more appearance-conscious than others. I had to win them back in other ways. But I think it was worth it," she said. She gave him a sideways look, an expression almost like embarrassment crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Don't imagine that I'm as selfless as all that, though. I have my bad points. All too many of them."

When he didn't answer, she turned to look at him more fully. "Where did you get that?" Her gloved hand reached up and almost touched his lips.

Cullen didn't spend much time looking in mirrors, too conscious of the paleness that marked him as haunted, but he knew what she meant. The cut he'd taken on his face, back in Kinloch, when the mages had imprisoned him. Before it, really, when they'd been trying to kill his best friend. Another Templar. When they'd succeeded by throwing metal shards at them both. The shards had burned as they flew.

"Another life."

Evelyn stepped closer, her eyes clouded with concern. The depth of it pierced him fully, and he felt like he was bleeding out. That all of his secrets and his shames were laid in front of her, this holy woman that saw far too much of him. He wondered how much she knew.

When he closed his eyes, she placed the gloved palm of her unmarked hand to his cheek and said, "There's only this life, Cullen. We only get one."

He breathed in, ready to tell her that lives weren't so simple, when a rusty voice came from a knot of nearby trees. "Well, this is a delightful welcome."

Cullen's eyes flew open and his hand reached for the sword he wore, while Evelyn stepped away from him to give them both room to fight. A dark-skinned man watched them both, and even without the mustache and the carefully cut beauty of his face, Cullen would have known from the way Evelyn relaxed that this was the missing Dorian.

When she ran to him and folded herself inside the waiting man's arms, Cullen released the air he'd been holding. That had been far too close.


	4. Family Dinners

Dorian clasped Evelyn to him like a drowning man.

But after a minute he pushed her away, though he still kept a strong grip on her shoulders. "Don't get the wrong impression," he said in the rich tones of the Imperium. "I'm still quite annoyed with you. My forgiveness will be hard-won."

Thunderclouds rolled across Evelyn's face. " _Your_ forgiveness? I've been worried sick about you! Why didn't you check in with the Inquisition? You know where our outposts are."

"Well, let me see," said Dorian, releasing Evelyn to tick off points on his fingers. "First you drag me to Redcliffe, naked of all protections, to play happy families with my father. A man who, you'll recall, is specifically not on my short list for socialization. Then, after I extracted myself and stormed off in my most delightful fashion, you get me attacked by a group of Venatori, also courtesy of my father. Then you run off into the distance shouting, 'I'll find you later,' leaving me to fend for myself with the half-dozen who remained. I did so flawlessly, of course."

He paused in his recitation to pat down his mustache, and Cullen saw the flash of a magical ring on his finger. Another mage. Perfect.

"Then I had to sleep in a field," continued Dorian, oblivious. "A field! Do you have any idea how bad dirt is for my, well, my everything? Immaculate perfection isn't quite as effortless as I make it look, you know. Finally, just when I was about to stumble into the waiting, comforting arms of an established Inquisitorial camp, I heard a scout saying that I was under suspicion of attacking _you_. And while at that point I might certainly have done so, up until then I was entirely blameless. Rather than try to explain that to the Nightingale's interrogators, a group not known for its sense of fun or its open mind, I sought you out myself.

"And you didn't make that easy," he added accusingly. "So yes, I believe my forgiveness will be secured only at a very dear price. You can begin by pointing me to the nearest bathhouse. Or whatever passes for one in this place."

Evelyn folded her arms. "None of that was my fault. Except the first thing. And that was a good idea."

Dorian folded his arms to match, and his exposed bicep made Cullen frown. Since when were mages so… bulky?

"It was exactly the opposite of a good idea. Only Corypheus has ever had a worse idea. And Alexius. But you're certainly in contention," said Dorian. "If you'd just done the mission they'd asked you to do, none of this would have happened. And what were you thinking, splitting up at the ambush?"

"I don't remember," said Evelyn, scuffing one foot on the ground. "I don't remember much of anything after Redcliffe, until I woke up. I was unconscious for awhile."

Dorian dropped his arms and his anger immediately. "Are you alright?" he asked, stepping towards her. He cupped her face in his hands and moved it side to side, examining it closely. "Nothing broken?"

"Just my brain. And that was already a bit off-kilter, so they tell me."

He didn't move his hands, and the rough concern on the man's face was enough to make Cullen's heart twist. Dorian wasn't a traitor. He couldn't be. He obviously loved the Herald too deeply to risk her life.

Dorian's fingers smoothed over her cheeks in soothing circles. "Why did you tell them I was against you?" he asked softly, and there was no more accusation in his voice. Just vulnerability, and a little sadness.

"That was his idea," said Evelyn, sniffing a little and pointing at Cullen.

The intruder finally turned and looked at Cullen fully, and to Cullen's surprise a wide grin spread across his face. "Really? A true Fereldan rustic, how charming. I suspect _you_ won't have to work much for my forgiveness at all," he said, his voice no longer vulnerable but delighted. And a little smoother than it had been before. "A warm introduction may be all it takes. I'm Dorian Pavus, Altus of the Imperium and very pleased to meet you. And you are?"

Cullen raised an eyebrow at Evelyn, who bit her lip. "This is Cullen Rutherford of Ferelden," she mumbled.

Dorian's face grew even more delighted. " _This_ is Cullen Rutherford?" he asked. He laughed until tears formed in his eyes, any trace of frustration gone. "Oh Evelyn, I forgive you anything and everything. This much entertainment can't be bought at any price. And it only seems to follow you."

"Why does everyone in the Inquisition seem to know who I am?" asked Cullen. He narrowed his eyes at both of them, hoping that some ghost of his old authority would force them into honesty, but Evelyn wasn't looking at him and Dorian seemed impervious to authority. "First Solas, then the Inquisitor, now you."

"Solas is here?" asked Dorian, twisting to look around.

The elf stepped silently out of the trees at his call, and Dorian smiled smugly. "Not much of a guard, are you?"

"I was informed of your approach an hour ago, via helpful spirits," said Solas. "Did you not wonder at the ease at which you found us?"

Dorian scowled, and Solas nodded regally as he faded back into the woods.

"I hate it when he does that," muttered the Tevinter mage. He turned back to Cullen with a clap of his hands and another grin that meant trouble. "Ser Rutherford. I wasn't lying when I said I needed a wash. Could you escort me to your nearest bath? And help me into it, if you'd be so kind. A meal would also be very welcome. Grape peeling is optional, but I wouldn't object to it."

Cullen looked at Evelyn, who held a hand over her eyes and gave him no help.

"We don't have a bathhouse, but we have a bathing room in the house that you can use," said Cullen. He waved vaguely in its direction. "I'll go and prepare it for you and the Herald. And food."

"And the Herald?" asked Dorian, a faintly puzzled note in his voice.

"Yes, I'm sure you have things to, ah, discuss," said Cullen, trying to keep his voice even. He coughed. "As for longer accommodations, I'm afraid we only have the one guest room, but you can stay in my own."

Evelyn made a small, pained noise in her throat, and Cullen hastened to add, "The bed is wide enough for double occupancy."

"I have no doubt," said Dorian cheerfully, losing his puzzled quality. "Fereldan hospitality truly is unparalleled. Thank you, Ser Rutherford."

"Cullen, please," he said. "While you're bathing, I'll take care of moving everyone's belongings. You're of a size with my brother, if you need fresh clothing."

Dorian nodded, but Evelyn said slowly, "Whose belongings are you moving?"

"Yours and my own."

"So Dorian and I will stay in your room," said Evelyn. She sounded like she was working out a complex problem, but Cullen didn't see what was so complicated about it. "And you'll stay in the guest room."

Cullen knew his face was flushed, but he was helpless to do anything to stop it. "Yes. I think that would be the best way to grant you the, ah, privacy that you need. There aren't many places to be alone on the steading."

"Maker preserve us," said Dorian with an awed expression. "So much for the jaded and world-wise Templar. I may need to send strongly worded notes to some authors. But I can say with complete honesty I may never be able to thank you enough for your consideration, Cullen."

The mage put his arm around Evelyn, who tried to elbow him with a vigor that made Cullen wince. "Come, dearest," he said. "We have a bath to enjoy. And we do have a lot of catching up to do."

* * *

Cullen busied himself with his task as the two visitors bathed, trying very, very hard not to think about what might be happening behind the wooden door. Much sooner than he expected, Evelyn joined him in the guest room as he was putting the last of her belongings in a sack.

She smiled at him, a little nervously, and the wet, uneven strands framing her face made her seem even more vulnerable than when she'd been asleep. Her bruises had faded under Solas's magic, but Cullen could still remember where they'd all been. He wondered how many more she would take, before the end.

She shouldn't be doing this. She should be at home, with her family, happy and unburdened. Like he was. She, at least, would deserve the peace.

He realized he was staring at her, stock-still, and he cleared his throat as he turned back to his packing. "I'm almost done."

"Cullen," she said, and he shivered at the sound of his name on her tongue. "I've been thinking. You should keep your room. Dorian can have the guest room, and I'll find somewhere else to sleep. The couch. Or the woods, with Solas. I'm used to it."

"Absolutely not," he said, frowning. "You'll be completely exposed in the woods. And the bedrooms offer more protection as well. More people to get through in case of trouble."

Then he realized what she was saying. He looked back at her and took in the way she was chewing on her lower lip. Perhaps he'd assumed too much. "If it would make you feel easier, you can stay here. I'll take the couch."

"No! You shouldn't have to give up a comfortable bed for us. We're the invaders."

"It's no trouble," he said. Her face didn't change, as stubborn as he'd ever seen it. He sighed. "Or I can stay in my room with Dorian. You can keep your own space."

"No!" she said again, even more horrified. Her eyes were hot with frustrated helplessness, and Cullen felt an aching sympathy for her abused lip. "No. That is… I couldn't ask that of you. You've done so much already."

"I just want you to feel comfortable," he said quietly.

Evelyn's expression softened. "I know. I can hardly believe my luck, that I managed to collapse so close to such kindness," she said. Her shoulders slumped, and she took the bag from his hands. "I'll stay with Dorian. It's fine. He'll be fine."

Impulsively, Cullen reached over and pulled her into a hug. She squeaked in surprise, and he tried to calm his thumping heart as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "You'll tell me if he bothers you," he said in his most brotherly fashion.

She chuckled against his chest. "You'll be the first to know."

* * *

Mia insisted on hosting a family dinner with a glint in her eye that said Cullen would hear from her later about all of these unexpected visitors, and he was unceremoniously kicked out of the kitchen while she prepared it. Evelyn was welcomed with a sweet enthusiasm that seemed to terrify the former noble, as were Solas and Dorian by an enterprising Alice, leaving Cullen kicking at the floorboards on the back porch in grumpy silence until Dorian joined him.

The mage slid on the bench next to him with a winning smile. "I've lost my place in the festivities, I'm afraid. Growing up in Minrathous with a houseful of servants didn't lend me much skill in the kitchen."

"I grew up without a single servant, and I'm pretty much the same," said Cullen. "It doesn't matter. I prefer to be places where I'm useful."

"I suspect you'd like to be in there now, though, useless or not."

When Cullen muttered a disclaimer, Dorian laughed openly. Cullen had always thought of Tevinter as a humorless, dreary place - the only Tevene citizen he'd known with any intimacy certainly had been - but Dorian's unrelenting cheer was challenging that belief with surprising vigor.

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me," said Dorian, slapping a hand on his back. "I'll try to be sufficiently entertaining."

"I appreciate that. So why was Evelyn so determined that you meet with your father?" asked Cullen, smooth as a blade. "And why did you let her put herself in danger to do it?"

Dorian's smile died. "Straight to the point. I like that. Evelyn, sweetheart though she is, has a minor obsession with reunions. The happy sort. And despite all of her wonderful qualities, she does turn rather deaf when one protests that they're impossible." The mage's eyes narrowed. "As for what I let her do, I suggest that you attempt to stop her the next time she has a brilliant idea. The best option is always to go along, in the small hope that the damage might be mitigated."

Cullen grimaced, and Dorian turned sunny once more. "I can see you've already learned that particular lesson with our dear Inquisitor. And I demand the story behind it."

The mage leaned back and crossed his legs in the attitude of a man who had all day, and Cullen sighed. "She wanted to see our sheep. There aren't many of them around here, because they take up a lot of space, but a group of farmers agreed to share some of their land for pasture and share in turn in the wool and meat. It's about five miles from here, and the Rutherfords have a stake in the flock. One of my siblings told her about it, very unwisely, and she wouldn't rest until we took her to see it. No matter how unsafe it was for her to travel so openly."

Dorian nodded knowingly and gestured him to go on.

"I was starting to worry she'd simply take off to find them, so I finally gave in. Once we got there, instead of keeping a low profile as I'd asked, she vanished into the middle of the lot of them, running and chasing them all over the field like a mabari pup. She finally tackled one out of sheer dumb luck and petted it to within an inch of its life. It might never be the same," said Cullen. He smiled softly. "She was very proud of herself."

He shook himself away from the memory of her breathless, jubilant figure as she cuddled a fully grown sheep in front of all of Honnleath. "But that was just livestock. It wasn't her life, Pavus."

"If the Venatori are looking for her, it could have been," said Dorian. "It could always be her life. Don't you think we all know that? Don't you think she knows that? She never complains. She never says no. She never hesitates. So if she wants me to sneak her to a tavern in Redcliffe, or if she wants Sera to help her hide every single pillow in the guest quarters of Skyhold, or if she wants Bull to give her the worst tasting alcohol in the realm, we do it. We love her too much to disappoint her. And she should have one part of her that isn't for the world."

Cullen looked down at the fist clenched in his lap and couldn't think of anything to say.

"Did she tell you that she almost died?" continued Dorian conversationally. "Twice, really. Once at the Conclave, before she was the all-holy woman she is today, and again at Haven."

"What happened?" asked Cullen quietly.

"A mountain fell on her and she had to walk through a blizzard," said Dorian matter-of-factly. "It didn't seem to slow her down."

Cullen's blood ran cold. "She didn't tell me," he said, closing his eyes against the shiver of fear that drifted down his spine. He tried to smile. "She doesn't talk about herself much." Not that he hadn't asked.

"I'm not surprised," said Dorian. "But I think she likes it here. She told me a lot about you while we were bathing. This is a delightful family. And I'm not sure she's ever met a man like you before."

"What do you mean?"

"One who treats her like a person instead of a tool to be wielded for their own power."

Cullen gave him a sharp look. "She is a person. And if this is all a warning, Dorian, it's not necessary. I don't plan to ask her to leave you."

"What makes you think she would agree even if you did?" asked Dorian with that lazy smile that still held trouble. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Tell me, do you like her?"

The condescending smirk on that handsome face was more than enough to wipe away any trace of Cullen's fear. "Of course," he said coldly. "She's a very good person."

Mia's call for dinner interrupted whatever reply Dorian would have made, though Cullen thought he heard the man mutter, "Exquisite," as he stood. Before they walked back into the house, Dorian gave him a wicked look. "What did Serious Solas think of her trip to the sheep field?"

"He thinks she was resting, comfortably, in the house the entire time," said Cullen with a forbidding glare.

When they finally stumbled into the dining room, Dorian coughing and wheezing, he left it to Cullen to try to explain what was so funny.

* * *

Dinner was a curious blend of family, flirting and fighting that Cullen couldn't wait to be out of. Mia and her husband took the heads of the table, leaving him squashed between Darren's wife and Dorian, who was warming his flinty older sister with alarming ease. Evelyn had taken the spot across from him, beside his younger sister, and the two of them had their heads bent together in furiously whispered conversation for most of the meal. All too often it ended with a burst of wild laughter, mischievous side-eyes around the table, and Alice falling sideways into Solas with a force that was clearly getting on the elf's nerves.

There were two saving graces. One was that Cole's presence was still hidden from his family, though Cullen caught glimpses of a hat out of the corner of his eye and more than once thought he heard the boy's strange cadence in his ear. But as it always whispered about Evelyn, it was more likely Cullen's unruly mind supplying the inappropriate thoughts. He tried to avoid staring, reddened under Dorian's frequent appraising looks and drank more of his wine. Which only made things worse.

The other saving grace, or so he'd thought, was that the children had been banished from the dinner and the house, sent to a neighboring house for the evening. But as the wine flowed freely, and disappeared even more freely, around the table, Cullen began to question the wisdom of that decision.

"Any word on the Venatori?" he tried to ask Solas once around the raucous laughter. Darren was regaling the far end of the table with a story about the time Cullen had been chased up a tree by an irate ram, and Cullen was desperate not to hear it.

"The Nightingale captured the two men you saw," said Solas. "So far they've not been forthcoming about their intentions. Or their employer."

"It's my father," said Dorian carelessly, sloshing his wine in his cup. "It's always my father. Magister Pavus has his fingers in every plot. Whereas my fingers are in every -"

Evelyn coughed and kicked out under the table, catching part of Dorian's leg but most of Cullen's. He hissed in a breath, and she covered her mouth with a ludicrously distressed expression. "Oh Maker, I'm so sorry, Cullen."

Her color was high as she blinked owlishly at him, and he smiled despite the sting in his shin. "It's fine."

"He's been treed by a big goat, a little kick won't hurt him at all," said Alice. She turned to Dorian and leaned forward on the table. "Why is your father trying to kill you? Is that what they do in Tevinter?"

"Not kill me, my dear. Would you kill your most prized thoroughbred? Never!" said Dorian. He leaned over conspiratorially and put his free hand around Cullen's shoulder. "I hope you appreciated that farming metaphor, Commander."

Alice giggled as Evelyn elbowed her, and even Mia seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face as Cullen gently removed the heavy arm. "I'm not a commander of anything. And farms don't have thoroughbreds."

"Details," said Dorian airily. "As to the Commander bit, well, Evelyn is quite persuasive where men are concerned. Quite the little diplomat."

"Dorian! He didn't mean that," Evelyn added quickly to the rest of the table. She avoided Cullen's gaze as her hands crawled inside the long sleeves of her tunic. She balled the ends of it into her fists.

"You have me wrapped around your smallest finger, I know that," said Dorian. "You promised that everything would work out. And, except for this charming dinner from our lovely hostess." He leaned over to kiss Mia's hand with gusto, drawing a growl from her husband and another laugh from the rest of the table. "Except for this, very little is working out. I have been the victim - the victim! - of your boundless and unwarranted optimism."

The mage glared blearily across the table, and Evelyn sighed. "I'm sorry. Okay? He was supposed to be happy to see you. He's your father for Andraste's sake! Fathers aren't supposed to be like, well, like kidnappers. Your dad wasn't, I'm sure," she said, jabbing at Alice.

"No, the worst thing he ever did was sing in the bathroom," said Darren. "Though, to be fair, he did that much more frequently. And loudly." He grinned secretly at his brother. "Cullen's singing voice isn't much better."

Cullen glared at him as the room began pounding on the table, demanding a song. Even Solas made an encouraging movement as he took another roll from the center of the table. Evelyn was the loudest of all, a grin threatening to split her face as she chanted his name, but this was one thing he wouldn't give her. No matter how lit from within she was as she urged him on.

When Dorian started to do a dance routine to the chant, throwing his hands in the air with abandon to the peril of his neighbors, Cullen shouted, "Enough!"

Silence fell, punctuated only by the breathing of the enthusiastic dancer beside him. "I don't want to sing," said Cullen, well-aware of how childish he sounded.

"Please?" said Evelyn with an ingratiating look. "If you sing, I'll do my impressions!"

"Your impressions?" asked Darren doubtfully as Dorian groaned.

"Don't let her," he said. "They're appalling. Her Tevene accent sounds like a dwarf buried in a pile of nugs."

Evelyn stuck out her tongue. "You're just mad that you can't do them. Vivienne says that my Orlesian accent is beautiful."

"Who's Vivienne?" asked Cullen.

"The First Enchanter in the Montsimmard Circle," said Solas. The way he said it, all in one word, made it clear he'd heard the phrase many times before.

Cullen sighed. "Do you have any friends who _aren't_ mages?"

"Ha ha. At least the mages agreed to work with me. Unlike the stupid Templars," said Evelyn sourly, staring into the distance, and Cullen stiffened at the bitterness in her voice. "They're all idiots."

An uncomfortable quiet glided around them, and Evelyn looked up, startled. "Um, present company excluded."

When he didn't say anything, not trusting his voice not to betray him, she lunged across the table and grabbed at his hand, upsetting her cup and dislodging a few dishes. "I didn't mean it. Cullen. Look at me," she said. He did, and her warm eyes were anguished and no longer fuzzed. "I didn't mean it. Okay? You're not an idiot. You're wonderful."

The moment stretched out between them, a bubble of time where he wasn't flushed or embarrassed but lost in the intensity of her gaze and the pleading in her face. Was he wonderful? He didn't know, but he'd like to think he was. He'd like to think she thought he was. He had no words for what he thought of her, but the feelings were flowing from him, tracing through the conduit of their fingers. They were so strong that he felt himself trembling with the effort of holding them back. Or was she trembling? It was hard to tell, here in this heartbeat.

Dorian shifted next to him, and Cullen dropped her hand. "Apology accepted, Inquisitor."

Evelyn sat back down gingerly, looking at the varying expressions around the table. She gave a halting smile. "Does that mean we'll be blessed with a song?" she asked in a lilting Orlesian accent.

A series of snorts broke the tension, and Cullen looked at Solas. "Is that why you told me she might sound Orlesian?"

The elf nodded. "I thought she might attempt something of the sort, in a misguided attempt at concealment," he said. He looked over at the Inquisitor indulgently, but with a touch of censure. "My friend is not always the best judge of the appropriate moment."

She flushed and looked down at her hands miserably, and Cullen supposed he would do this thing for her after all. He cleared his throat. "Very well. A demonstration for a demonstration. Your song."

He ran quickly through a verse of a familiar Chantry song, staring up at the ceiling to hide his chagrin. When he was finally done, he looked back at the table to see his family hiding smiles behind their hands, but the Inquisition guests just looked slightly stunned.

"Did someone tell you to sing that?" asked Dorian. He peered into the corner, and Cullen jabbed him with his elbow to stop that line of inquiry.

"No. It's just the first one that came to mind," he said. _The Dawn Will Come_ was somewhat out of style, now that the Blight was past, but it wasn't that unknown. "Did I do something wrong?"

Evelyn shook herself. "No. Not at all," she said, smiling uncertainly. Cullen thought he saw the shine of tears in her eyes and wondered if there was any part of this dinner that wouldn't be painful for someone. She rubbed at her face and added, "But you have a beautiful singing voice. Why did your father's singing annoy you all so much if it sounded like that?"

"It didn't sound like that," said Darren. "Not in the least. I just wanted to make Cullen perform for you. He hates it, and we love it."

Alice laughed again and bent her head to Evelyn's ear, saying something that banished the tears and brought a smile back to her face. They started whispering again, and Cullen tried to listen to them without appearing to.

"So," said Mia, laying her silverware aside deliberately, "if you've captured the strange men, does that mean it's safe for you to return to the Inquisition?"

 _And leave us alone_ , Cullen heard in the hushed undercurrents. Solas obviously did as well, and answered slowly, "It would be safer for the Inquisitor to remain here until we know more. However, if we're a burden, we can seek such safety elsewhere."

"I just wonder if the danger to the Herald is putting us all at risk," said Mia.

Cullen sighed. The Rutherfords had always been known for their bluntness.

"I like you very much," his sister said to Evelyn, who'd stopped whispering. "Truly. But I have a family to consider."

"I understand," said Evelyn, her voice nearly a whisper. "I don't want to bring harm to anyone here. On anyone anywhere."

The quiet was back, this time louder than the noise had been, and they waited inside of it as though for a signal. Like strangers waiting for a coach, no one wanting to break the peace first.

Eventually Cullen spoke. He was the signal. "Stay," he said. "If it's the safest course, stay. I promised to help you."

Mia released a disappointed breath, but all Cullen could see was a mountain, falling on this woman's head. The way she'd twisted in the clearing, drawing the last demon to her even as she was collapsing. Saving him, even before she knew he was there to save. The unsafe world would come for her soon enough, dark and ominous and hungry, in a way he couldn't protect her from. Let him do this, now. He couldn't send her away yet.

"Thank you," said Evelyn. "I promise I won't let your children be hurt, Mia."

"Pie crust promises, Inquisitor," said Mia, staring at a knot in the wood. "Easily made, easily broken. But we'll honor Cullen's promise to you. He's family, too."

She pushed away from the table, and the rest of the table responded in kind. "Leave the dishes to me," she said. "It's time for bed, for the rest of you."

They obeyed silently. Cullen was the last one out of the room, and he looked back to see Mia leaning into her husband's shoulder, fine lines etched around her eyes as she held him.

* * *

Cullen walked back to his room in a fog, mind churning with guilt and embarrassment and, yes, a little pleasure at the fact that Evelyn would still be here when he woke up. He'd walked all the way into the room before he realized that she was there, now, in front of him, wearing an astonished expression. She looked perfect, with her parted lips and tousled hair, and he felt all the blood rush out of his face as he realized how little else she was wearing.

"I'm sorry!" he said, throwing his hands in front of him as though he were warding away an enemy. "I forgot that I'd… that this was your room." Thank the Maker Dorian didn't seem to be around.

"Hello," said a baritone behind him, and Cullen's heart sank. "While you do have a roomy bed, I don't think it will fit three. Unless we do something very athletic."

"No!" said Cullen. "I just… I'll be going. Away from here. Forgive me, Herald. I'll ah. I'll see you tomorrow."

Before Evelyn could say anything, Cullen brushed past the man in the doorway with speed. He whimpered when he closed the door behind him, then leaned against the cool wood and tried to calm himself. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get the sight of her pale figure out of his mind, and he put his face in his hands. Her legs had been so muscled, and the planes of her so hard, and the curves of her so soft…

 _Get a hold of yourself_ , he thought to himself fiercely. He winced when he heard Dorian's light chuckle behind the door and the unmistakable sound of the mattress settling into place.

"I told you," said Evelyn, barely audible even in the silence. There were more muffled words, things he couldn't catch, but he heard snatches like "polite" and "sweet" and "hopeless" that had his ears burning.

Worst of all were Dorian's answering laughs. When Cullen heard the mage say, "Absolutely gorgeous," in a rumbling, bedroom voice, he finally stepped away. He'd been unbelievably foolish. What did it matter that she would be here when he woke up, if she was in love with the handsome man who would leave with her in the end? She liked mages, not Templars.

But Cullen would still protect her. If he kept no other promises in his life, he wouldn't break that.


	5. Losing Positions

Cullen worked in the stables the next morning.

That was after he'd fed the hens, checked the fencing around the garden and weeded what he could see of it, and repaired the water pump an inconvenient distance from the house that no one ever used. The monotony of the work and the stillness of the early hour kept his mind away from the persistent memory of Evelyn's half-dressed form, and the light dusting of freckles on her chest that had wandered down past where he could see them…

He tossed a forkful of hay into the stall aggressively, and the horse inside gave him a baleful look before setting down to her breakfast.

"That's more than I've eaten," muttered Cullen at the mare.

"And isn't that a shame?" said Dorian behind him.

Cullen closed his eyes and prayed for calm.

Still, when he turned around to see the mage holding a tray of hot food and a steaming cup of coffee, his stomach growled against his will. He wiped a hand across his sweaty brow and glared at the entirely too-cheerful man. Dorian seemed very satisfied this morning. Good for him.

"I've brought a meal for the laboring man," said Dorian. "Not cooked by me, I'm happy to say. Come and play some chess. Evelyn tells me you're a master strategist."

Cullen started to set aside the pitchfork, then paused. "I smell like horse," he said.

"A very manly smell, I've always thought. And the way that shirt is clinging, you could smell like dracolisk dung and still be more than welcome at my chessboard." Dorian walked backwards out of the building as he held up the tray. "No chess, no food. I'll be on the porch."

* * *

It wasn't enough that he was a mage, that he'd charmed Cullen's entire family or that he was the Herald's lover. Dorian also had to be good at chess.

Cullen glared down at the board, with the standard pieces in a completely unstandard formation, and saw no move that would let him escape from the inevitable loss. He tipped over his king with a sigh and rubbed his hand over his face. Dorian, for once, didn't laugh, but only cocked his eyebrow interrogatively.

"Again," said Cullen, placing the pieces back into position with a heavier hand than was strictly necessary.

"You have surprising stamina," said Dorian. His eyes flicked over Cullen's chest, and he grinned. "Well, perhaps not that surprising. Evelyn and I both suspected you might."

Cullen didn't answer, and Dorian rolled his eyes. The mage looked a little irritated, and lot impatient, which made no sense from a man who'd won three games running.

"You are very trying," muttered Dorian before he recovered his usual sanguine manner. "I thought farmers were supposed to welcome the dawn with a smile and a song."

"It depends what the morning brings to him."

The door banged closed behind them. Cullen didn't look around, already thinking about his opening move, until he heard Evelyn say, "Maker's blessed name, you're playing chess? At this hour of the day?"

The sun was already a thumb's width over the horizon, which was hardly the crack of dawn, but Cullen kept that to himself. Dorian waved a pawn in the air. "I'm embracing rural life. Much longer, and I may become indistinguishable from the locals."

Cullen snorted, and Evelyn echoed him. "Please tell me you're kicking his ass, Cullen."

"Not yet. But I plan to."

"Strong words, my friend. Hollow and baseless, but strong," said Dorian.

"Don't let him cheat," Evelyn added as she circled around the board.

"How does someone cheat at chess?" asked Cullen.

"There are ways," said Evelyn.

"She means I'm a master of distraction," said Dorian, reaching out to pinch the unwisely close Herald, who snarled and swatted him away.

Cullen frowned, and Dorian summoned up an apologetic look. "Not physical interference. That would, of course, be against every rule you hold near and dear. But Skyhold has a number of soldiers within its walls, as you can well imagine. And what do soldiers do every day but train their bodies to be delightful instruments of pain?"

"I don't understand," said Cullen, though the way Evelyn was fidgeting and trying to shush the mage was certainly interesting.

"Well, one truism about instruments of pain is that they are always quite… hard. Even outside of their metal coating. And Evelyn has a particularly difficult time resisting a fine, soldierly ass when it's pointed out to her."

Evelyn put her hands over her scarlet face and mumbled, "I hate you."

"You adore me," said Dorian. "Now, leave us to our manly duel, lest you become the new distraction."

The Herald wandered back into the house, still red and muttering, and Cullen's eyes followed her as she went. She and her lover certainly had a strange relationship, with both of them flirting with abandon, and ogling others, and not even bothering to kiss when they met in the morning. The idea that either of them would be shy in front of an audience was so ridiculous that Cullen snorted. His humor faded away when he wondered if they'd simply been so ardent behind closed doors that they had no need for affection in front of them.

"It's your move," said Dorian brightly.

* * *

Cullen nearly won a game, and then Evelyn came back out with Solas and Alice and began playing a game of… something in the yard with the children. The rules seemed haphazard at best, changing at the discretion of the ruler, who was usually an annoyed Solas resting under a tree with a book. There was a lot of screaming, and a lot of laughter, and a distinct lack of order.

Evelyn was flushed and happy, though, and when she was buried in a pile of giggling monsters intent on eating out her bones until she was all skin - his niece had recently spent time with a very instructive book of Fade fables - Cullen couldn't help a longing sigh from dancing over the table. The Maker brought such beauty into the world.

"Checkmate," said Dorian.

"I concede the field, Master Pavus," said Cullen, utterly disgusted with himself. He pulled the wooden box that housed the set onto the table and began to replace the pieces. Neatly, and in the proper order.

Dorian watched him work, seeming to struggle with himself, and he was on the verge of speaking when Solas joined them. "Are you quite finished?" he said, but he was only looking at Dorian.

"Yes, yes. I'm trying to be. Keep your robes tied," said Dorian, drumming his fingers on the table. "Cullen. It's been great fun and all, watching you squirm, but I truly must know - have you ever slept with a woman before?"

Cullen dropped the rook he was holding with a clatter. "Excuse me?"

"Or a man even? Any romantic interludes of any kind in your history?"

He looked up at Solas, but the elf seemed genuinely interested instead of annoyed. "This is not ah, something I discuss."

"Maker's testes, it's a simple question."

Cullen gritted his teeth and made to push away before he saw Evelyn walking back towards the house. Dorian saw it, too, and his eyes gleamed. "I'm sure the Herald will ask, if I mention it to her."

And the terrifying part was, she might. Once she'd passed him, and he released the breath he held, Cullen said, "I have been involved with several women, yes. No men. My interests don't lean that way, though it wasn't unheard of in the barracks."

"Then I confess that I'm amazed you ever found a one of them," said Dorian. He took several of the pieces back out of the box and toyed with them, then said abruptly, "Shall I tell you why my father and I aren't on speaking terms?"

"I don't want to pry into your personal affairs."

The mage smiled and smoothed a finger over his mustache. "So very principled. You'll ruin me, Cullen, truly," he said. "It's not prying if I offer it freely."

"Is it because you're a mage?"

"Ha!" said Dorian. "No, that's the one thing about me he loves wholeheartedly. I'm afraid it's rather baser than that. Unlike you, I do enjoy the company of men in the bedroom. Exclusively. And my father enjoys that less than I do. Particularly the lack of issue that will be issued as a result."

Cullen blinked. "Your father wanted to kidnap you to… force you to have a child?"

Dorian chuckled, and Solas said mildly, "We still don't know it was him."

The Tevinter man waved that away and focused on Cullen. "I think you've roughly got a handle on it, yes."

That seemed a little irrational to Cullen, not to mention poor strategy, but before he could voice the thought another one struck him. "Wait. How are you and Evelyn lovers if you prefer men?" he asked. It wasn't that he couldn't understand how a man would be captivated, regardless of his preferences, but it seemed a little unfair to her.

"Another simple question, with a simple answer. We aren't."

"But… I thought you were?"

"Indeed, and much to my amusement I have to admit. It's not every day a man sincerely and without personal motive pushes a woman into my bed, particularly one that he would much rather have in his own. It was a singular experience, and one I won't forget any time soon," said Dorian. "I did try to drop hints, you know, that I found you the more appealing. Honestly I don't know how I could have been any more blatant, but there you have it."

Cullen flushed and tried to gather his composure again "Thank you. But about the beds, that's not - I mean, I wouldn't. Not with the Herald."

"Of course you would! I knew it from the first minute I burst into your woods, though I was of course hoping I was wrong. A faint hope, given what I saw on your faces," said Dorian. "If Varric were here he wouldn't even take action against the two of you enjoying a lengthy, private sparring session. Frankly, I'm a bit alarmed that you haven't already. I hope there's nothing… wrong."

"Who's Varric?" asked Cullen, desperate to change the subject.

"A dwarf with the Inquisition. It doesn't matter," said Dorian. "Look, I'm telling you this now partially because I am a kind soul eager to help the pitiful and pathetic, and partially because Evelyn snores like she's trying to tunnel out of the Deep Roads with the power of her nasal passages, but mostly because I hate seeing my best friend quite this unhappy."

"I'm your best friend?" asked Cullen. He winced at the dazed, lost tone in his voice, but he couldn't seem to find solid ground in this conversation. But he filed away the 'pitiful and pathetic' part for future discussion.

Dorian laid his hands over Cullen's, which were still draped over the open chess box. "Cullen, I consider you the very first among men I've known for less than twenty four hours - and that's stiffer competition than you realize - but no. Evelyn is my best friend. My only friend, really."

"But she seems fine to me," said Cullen, bewildered.

Dorian rolled his eyes, and even Solas couldn't keep his face impassive. "She's somewhat less than fine," said Dorian.

"This coyness serves no one," said Solas, tapping his foot in annoyance. "The Inquisitor has been throwing herself at you, Commander, and your consistent rejections are beginning to shake her confidence."

"It's Cullen," he said absently. He frowned and looked at them both in disbelief. "I'm not rejecting her. There's nothing to reject. She's the Herald! I couldn't possibly… She couldn't be… Throwing herself at me?"

Dorian ignored his stammering and looked at Solas appraisingly. "Since when do you lower yourself to dabble in affairs of the heart?"

The elf's face didn't even twitch. "I have no objection to love or its expression. But this circling courtship is wasting time and energy that would be better spent elsewhere. Especially now."

"There is no courtship!"

"Well, no, because you've frightened her away with your proper manners and maidenly shyness," said Dorian. "But all hope is not yet lost. You have us to help you!"

Cullen leaned down to rest his forehead on the table as he tried to garner some order out of the informational storm. "None of this makes any sense."

"Actually, what doesn't make sense is that you are out here talking to us - though one of us, at least, is a charming and unparalleled conversationalist - instead of being inside the house with the lovely woman you just lost a very winnable chess match staring at," said Dorian. "Merely a thought."

Cullen stood abruptly. Yes. That was a good idea. He would clear this up with Evelyn herself, rather than with these smirking mages. She was obviously just flirting, which was fine, but if he didn't get these two to see her lack of interest, he was sure he'd never hear the end of it.

The tiny candle of hope inside his chest had nothing at all to do with anything.

* * *

Cullen found her sitting in his - her - room, cross-legged on the bed, sifting through small items on the quilt. When he saw the open metal box next to her, he slowed, suddenly a little shy.

Evelyn looked up and gasped. "I wasn't snooping!" she said quickly. "I was just looking for a candle and then this box tipped over and I was trying to put everything back."

"It's okay," said Cullen, sinking next to her on the bed. "There's nothing secret in here."

"What are they?" asked Evelyn, holding up a palm full of random detritus. Stones, and rings, and coins, and even a few small toys rested on top of the glowing mark she bore.

He smiled wryly. "They're my treasures," he said. "From when I was a boy."

"But this coin is recent," she said, plucking one out of the jumble and holding it up.

"Maybe not always from when I was a boy," he admitted, and she smiled. He rubbed the back of his neck. "They're silly."

"No!" she said, closing her fist around what she held. "They're lovely. Do they all have a story?"

"Some of them. Some are just things I found that I thought were nice. Like this rock," he said. He held up a small stone with a shine buried deep inside of it. "It was pretty, so I brought it home."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled, a few flecks of gold dancing in their depths. "Like me?" she said, tossing her hair.

Cullen was suddenly reluctant to start the conversation that had seemed so necessary out on the porch. He ducked his head and mumbled, "I would have helped you even if you weren't beautiful."

"Of course you would have," she said softly, and he looked back up to see her examining a thin golden band with lost eyes. "You're the perfect knight." She blinked rapidly, then asked, "Was this your mother's?"

"It was," he said. "She didn't like to wear a wedding band when she was working because it got caught in things so easily, but she kept this for when my father was away at market, or she had to go into town. To stave off the horde of interested men, my father always said." He reached out to touch it, brushing against Evelyn's hand in the process. He forced himself to breathe. "She wasn't wearing it when the darkspawn killed them both."

"I'm sorry."

"So was I. I wasn't here to help them."

"You were serving a higher cause," said Evelyn firmly.

Cullen laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Perhaps one higher cause. But the highest cause is serving, and saving, the people you love. I should have been here," he said. He shrugged. "Then again, it may just have been worse for my presence. Many things are."

She didn't reply, but he could feel the pity in her stare. He reached out and picked up a silver coin that still sat in the box. "This might have helped them more than me. My lucky coin."

"What makes it lucky?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I just always assumed it was. I carried it with me when I was a Templar, and I'm still here, so obviously I was right," he said, trying to smile.

Evelyn smiled back. "I'm glad you were."

"You should take it," he said suddenly, holding it out to her between his thumb and forefinger.

"I couldn't," she said, though she stared at it with a hint of longing in her eyes. "It's yours. You need it."

"I don't," he said. "I'm at home now. Safe. You're out there in the world, risking yourself. Take it. I want it to keep you safe once you're gone." She still looked hesitant, and he touched her cheek with his free hand. "Please. I'll feel better if you carry it."

Evelyn's reached out blindly for it, her eyes locked on his face, and Cullen breathed in when her fingers grazed over his. She was so close to him, close enough that he could feel the shallow rise and fall of her chest as though it were his own. The knowledge that she wasn't Dorian's lover, that she might even want him instead, was a flash of aching hope that he couldn't ignore.

His eyes flicked to her lips, parted and pink, and her tongue darted out to wet them before she whispered, "Thank you."

It was more than he could take. Cullen took her chin between his fingers, tilting her head up to meet his lowering mouth, and when they came together the rest of the world vanished.

* * *

When he came back to himself, the world was still there, and so was Evelyn. Her eyes were closed below him, her face upturned like a flower to the sun, and the wave of desire that ran through him knocked him senseless. When she finally blinked them open once more, the gold lights were all he saw.

"I hope that was alright," whispered Cullen, dropping his hand to her shoulder to rest lightly on her tunic. "I didn't mean to -"

That was as far as he got before she lunged at him, scattering the treasures across the bed and onto the floor with a clatter. He caught himself on one hand as she scrambled into his lap, the other snaking around her waist to secure her suddenly unstable position. He locked his elbow as she pressed her mouth to his once more, not delicate and soft as he'd been, but with desperate greed and just a little relief. Cullen pulled in breath where he could, trying to meet her at every point she demanded, lost in the scent and the taste and the feel of the woman devouring him.

When she threaded a hand through his hair and tightened it, giving her better access to his willing mouth, he groaned low in his throat and pulled her more flush against him. He was already half-aroused, just from the kiss, and he wondered if she could tell. If it frightened her or excited her. From the way her tongue played with his, he thought it was the latter.

After a minute, or an hour, or a lifetime, she pulled away with a light gasp. "Oh Maker, I'm sorry," she said.

Her eyes were lidded and heavy, her lips swollen from where he'd pressed against them, and she was more beautiful than Andraste herself. Cullen leaned forward to capture her again, and she melted into his arms. This kiss was a blend of the hungry and the soft, and while he felt no lessening of desire, his heart was no longer threatening to gallop out of his chest.

After he was finished, and she was content, he held her waist steadily as he scooted back to lean against the wall. He realized, flushing, that he'd left the door open behind him, and while it was absent of intruders he wondered how many people had just witnessed his entirely unromantic mauling of a beautiful woman. He'd never hear the end of it, from any of them.

When he started to remove Evelyn from his lap to close it, she looked behind her and laughed. Her thighs tightened around his legs, and Cullen suddenly wasn't going anywhere. "I don't mind. And it will keep me a little chaster than I would be, otherwise."

Frustration warred with relief inside of him, and she must have seen it on his face because she cupped his cheeks and kissed him sweetly. "I get the impression you're not a man who wants to move that quickly," she said.

Cullen sighed reluctantly. "I'm not. But I've never been in the position of not having the time to move slowly before."

He moved his hands to her elbows and rubbed them tenderly as she stared at him. "Is that why you only kissed me this morning? Because I'll be leaving soon?" she asked. Her hands dropped, and she didn't look upset, but a bit of the light dimmed in her eyes. "It's okay, if it is. I just like to know where I stand."

"Not at all. I've wanted to do that since I first saw you," said Cullen. He frowned. "Though you were unconscious at the time, which makes that less romantic than I intended."

She laughed lightly, but the crease was back in the center of her forehead. This time he did reach up to smooth it away, and she grabbed his hand quickly before bringing it back down to his lap. "But you don't even like me."

"I like you enormously," he said, surprised. He worked his hand free from hers and played with the ends of her shaggy hair. "I like your smile. I like your bravery. I like your chaos," he added, tweaking a strand and startling a laugh out of her.

Cullen curved his hand around her neck and brought her forehead to his. She sighed, and he kissed the tip of her nose softly. "I like that you're saving the world, but you still have time to chase sheep, and care for your friends, and make an old man like me feel like he's young again."

"You're not old," she whispered. Her lips found his own again, and he drank in the warmth of her.

He caressed her neck easily, rubbing his thumb over the pulse that beat inside of her, and when she reached down to pull his shirt up, he didn't stop her from her explorations. When she moaned at whatever joy she found there, he smiled and brought his lips to her ear. "I like it when you flirt with me."

She leaned against him more fully, her face buried in his shoulder. "You do? Oh Maker, I was convinced I was making such a fool of myself. Dorian couldn't stop laughing at what an idiot I was. I'd come out with some stupid suggestive comment, or laugh like a ninny at something that wasn't even funny, and you'd just nod and smile politely. It was so embarrassing," she said, groaning. "Especially when I was trying to get Dorian out of our sleeping arrangements in case, by some miracle, you changed your mind."

Cullen rubbed a hand over her back, and she relaxed a little and began to move again.

"I told myself I would stop chasing you, that it was ridiculous to be so eager with a man who wasn't interested, but you made it very difficult," she said, kissing her way down his neck. "You're so perfect. It's not fair."

"I didn't think you were an idiot," said Cullen. "I looked forward to every word. I just didn't think you were serious. That you might actually want a man like me. I'm not perfect, Evelyn. Far from it."

He touched the top of her head, and she leaned back to look at him. "I'm sorry if my lack of understanding made you feel you aren't everything you are," he said. "I should have been telling you the whole time. But it's hard to flirt with a woman who takes your breath away every time she looks at you."

To his surprise she laughed, and her eyes flashed bright amusement once more. "If you want me to think you're not perfect, you're going to have to do better than that."

By unspoken agreement they stopped talking and just explored each other, open door and all, and Cullen couldn't remember a time he'd been happier. She kissed him like she had all the time in the world, like she would never leave him and that he would never have to let her go. He held her closely enough that she felt molded to him, and Cullen might have wondered if she was uncomfortable if she hadn't released such delicious, needy whimpers into his ear every time he tightened his arms.

Maker's breath but she knew how to drive him wild.

She tasted like cinnamon, the skin of her neck tender and soft under his tongue. When she arched back to give him more, to let him have every inch of her he could reach, it took all of his self-control not to mark that pale expanse as his own. From the way she looked at him when he pulled back, hot and accusing, she wouldn't have minded, but he settled for tracing the lines of her face with his fingers as she shuddered beautifully over him. Every time he grazed the line around her kiss-swollen lips, she licked at his fingertips until he thought he would go mad.

Evelyn smiled at a particularly loud growl, but it was soft instead of triumphant. Cullen wondered if he was already in love. He wondered how long he would be allowed to be this time as she found his mouth again.

As the kissing grew more heated, so did the rest of them. Her hands were glorious torture over him as she whispered her appreciation of his body, and while his shirt was the only article of clothing either of them lost, it hardly mattered in the end. His own fingers kneaded the flesh beneath her tunic in steady rhythm, brushing underneath her breasts until she moaned. Her tongue found deeper places inside his mouth, and her breathing grew more labored as she held on to the kisses longer and longer. Each time she pulled back to look at his face, her eyes were hazier and darker than the last, and he knew his own expression was no less ravenous.

And when her hands drifted around him to cup his ass and squeeze, he almost went through the wall as his hips pistoned up into hers. He was just about to suggest that going fast was the only way this was going to go when a dry voice said, "I see you've been taking Leliana's advice to heart."

Evelyn broke away with a gasp, her hair wild and her eyes dismayed. Cullen looked over her shoulder. His heart stopped, and his face reddened.

"Seeker Pentaghast," he said as formally as he could with the Inquisitor draped over him like a blanket. "Welcome to Honnleath."

"Thank you, Knight-Commander Rutherford."

"It's uh, just Cullen now. I'm not a Templar."

"And I'm not a Seeker, but it is easier to use the names we know," said the tall, dark-haired woman. Her eyebrow was arched and her arms crossed, and Cullen had never felt more like he'd been caught fooling around in the back of the Chantry by a Reverend Mother. Even when he had been.

"Hello, Cassandra," said Evelyn to the wall. She was still facing well away from the door. "Did you have a good journey?"

Her face said that she didn't expect the Seeker to go for small talk, and she was right. "I would like to speak with you, Inquisitor," said Cassandra.

"I'm a little busy right now, but if you don't mind waiting I can catch up with you later…"

Cullen thunked his head against the wall and closed his eyes as the newcomer practically expanded in front of him. No cat petted the wrong way had ever looked more furious.

"I do not wish to wait," she said. "I wish to discuss why a simple recruitment mission has ended with you hiding out on a farm in Ferelden while Venatori spies comb the countryside for you."

"Sorry," whispered Evelyn, kissing him sadly on the cheek and shifting to the side. "Cassandra doesn't take no for an answer."

"Sounds like someone I know," he whispered back, and she gave him a small smile.

Cullen put his shirt back on as the two women watched, and while Evelyn's still-hungry stare made him tingle, he also thought he detected a small flicker of appreciation on the stony Seeker's face. That was flattering, at least. He hoisted himself from the mattress and headed to the door to leave them room to talk. "You're not going to hurt her, are you?" he asked as he reached it.

"No," they both said in chorus, and Cullen would have laughed if he didn't think Seeker Pentaghast would kill him for it.

"By the way," he said impulsively, turning back towards them. "Who was this person you were meant to recruit? You never mentioned it."

Evelyn shook her head, warning him off, but it was too late. Seeker Pentaghast gave him a puzzled look. "It's you, Knight-Commander. Please close the door on your way out."


	6. Little Monsters

Cullen walked to the back door in a daze.

A cacophony of words, of feelings and memories, bounced against the walls of his mind. He felt almost like he was on a heaving ship, slamming on waves through a storm and never upright for more than a second at once. His fingers still tingled from touching smooth, sweet skin, but he knew his face was pale with regret.

The Inquisition certainly had interesting methods of recruitment.

He stopped by the door and sank down onto the bench to lace his boots once more. _Focus_ , he thought. _Order your mind._ It was the instruction of the Templar trainers so long ago, and his father's more musical voice before that. Meditation was different without lyrium, but the performance of small, even tasks always helped to center the chaos.

Cullen yanked his laces all the way out of each boot, then settled them on his thighs and began to pull the thread through the eyes again. Each pass settled another brick of thought into the wall of facts he was building.

Evelyn had come to Ferelden on a mission she hadn't wanted to undertake and abandoned it for the family reunion with Dorian.

When she'd learned his name, she'd released her fear of Cassandra's anger and asked him to join her cause immediately.

The Inquisition was losing ground to the Venatori, a group able to sneak into the deepest sectors of Ferelden and find a woman who'd completely abandoned her inadequate protectors.

Cassandra Pentaghast wasn't a woman who lied.

The conclusion was obvious, and not difficult to reach. Very well. The Herald had come, in part, to this country to recruit him for the Inquisition. Only it hadn't worked out that way, and she'd found him by danger instead of design. Tug the lace through, pull it tight and reverse, calm the storm inside of himself. He moved on to the next boot. The next wall.

Her closed off, Inquisitor's face when she'd first asked him to join, before she knew a thing about his current state or worth. It was request that had never subsided, her determination to have him accept the position an almost tangible thing.

The harsh words she'd spoken about Templars at dinner, and the way she'd been desperate for him to ignore them after they were said.

Her shaggy hair, lovely and dark, taken in service of binding an elf girl more fully to their cause. Her casual references to winning over others. She always found a way inside.

Dorian's comment that Evelyn was a great diplomat of men. Cassandra's dry remark about using suggested tactics. Solas's warning about her easy way with the unguarded heart.

Small smiles and easy touches, flirtations that she claimed to be unable to control. How at ease she was with his body, and her own. All of those soldiers, those citizens, those leaders, swayed to her side by the force of her nature. Of her.

Cullen finished the second boot with a quiet mind and a heavy heart. This truth was harder to accept, though just as easy to believe, and it sat inside of him like a lead weight as he stared at his now-shod feet. If only he'd never hoped. If only he wasn't so aware of how in love with her he still was. There had never been anything to hold on to, but he'd reached out anyway. Evelyn loved her cause, as any great leader should.

He should have remembered that she'd reminded him first of Meredith.

A figure appeared next to him on the bench, and it was a measure of his despair that he barely even jumped.

"This isn't right," said Cole.

"She does what she must," said Cullen, unsure if he was trying to convince the demon or himself. A small part of him wondered at conversing with a demon without fear.

"You have nothing to fear from demons," said Cole. The hat wavered as he tilted his head from side to side. "Love alone guides you."

"'And alone is all love is'," quoted Cullen, a snatch of a faded poem winding its way through him.

Cole made a sound of frustrated annoyance that was so human that Cullen stared at him. "You are very trying!" he said in a strange mimicry of Dorian's voice. His cornflower blue eyes were wide and curious and full of an infinite kindness that wasn't human at all. "Why does your mind go only in one direction, Cullen Rutherford who was a Templar? The world is everywhere, not just in front of you, and there are things on the back of your head that can never be seen. Where there is too much order, nothing true can be found. Evelyn will help."

The creature, whatever it was, vanished again easily, and Cullen reached out cautiously to see if Cole was still there. There was no resistance under his fingers.

Cullen stood with a shake of his head and opened the door. He needed to talk to Dorian.

* * *

Dorian was playing a game of horseshoes with the children, and when his nephew ran over to be scooped up in his uncle's arms, the mage turned around. He dropped his horseshoes on the ground and crossed his arms in exasperation. "Done so quickly? Do you two need lessons of some kind?"

"Cassandra Pentaghast is here," said Cullen, holding the young boy carefully. His pain wasn't for a child to bear.

"Ah," said Dorian. "And what did that upright lady have to say about the newest threat to all of our lives?"

"I don't know. She wanted to speak to the Inquisitor alone," said Cullen. "Tell me, is this always how the Inquisition recruits for its ranks?"

Dorian's forehead creased, but before he could answer, the door swung open and Evelyn ran out onto the porch with one shoe on, hopping into the other one.

"Cullen!" she called. She gave up on the shoe and carried it across the yard with a limping motion. "Wait!"

Cassandra trailed after the shorter women like an irate mother hen. "Inquisitor, we were not finished!"

Evelyn ignored her. She finally made it to him, a little worse for wear, and Cullen felt himself tearing in two as she looked up at him with a pleading face. The manipulation ate at him and turned her into a woman he knew not at all, but the agony buried in her eyes had him screaming to protect, to help her, to make her life smooth. And neither part of him could look away.

She seemed to sense his division and bit her lip as she moved closer, before she noticed the child still dangling in his arms. "Oh," she said absently, plucking him out easily and turning to hand him to the Seeker who had just caught up. "Take him."

"What?" squawked Cassandra as she suddenly found her hands full of toddler. "I do not - children are not my area of expertise."

Dorian laughed as the woman held her new charge out at arm's length, letting him dangle over the yard below as he squirmed, and Solas rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. Even Cullen found some vague amusement in himself as Cassandra stared at his shocked nephew.

She gingerly bounced the child up and down as she said, "Inquisitor, there are still things I do not know…"

Evelyn barely seemed to notice any of it. "Cullen, Cole found me. He told me what you said. Or what you thought anyway. But you're wrong," she said.

Cullen waited silently, but he shifted away when she reached for his arm. He was too wise to let that happen again.

Her voice grew more desperate. "I _was_ asked to recruit you, long ago. Once we got to Skyhold, Cassandra said we needed a true Commander, and that you were the best choice. She'd asked you once, and you'd refused her. But she's no diplomat at the best of times, and she thought I might fare better, with my… training. As a noble and as a fighter. I'd succeeded with difficult groups before, at least partially.

"But I didn't agree that we needed a Commander. Cassandra was doing fine, with the reset of us to fill in the gaps. I said no. I said it was a waste of time. I didn't even know who you were, but I said," she began, then trailed off. "I said things that weren't nice."

"An oaf of a Templar, I think you called him," said Cassandra.

"More muscles than mind. A brute who would smash through walls before trying the door," added Dorian, clearly enjoying himself.

"A bloodthirsty heart that would upset the delicate balance of the new hierarchy," said Solas.

Cullen swayed where he stood as the words washed over him, filling in the grooves of his scars. The words were all true, and only Evelyn seemed to understand how much they were breaking him.

"Yes," she said harshly, her eyes hot and angry. "I said all of that. I said more. I called you a coward, a failure, someone who'd run from what was difficult and right into the easy wrongs. I called you a monster. A murderer. I wasn't thinking. I was a petulant brat. But I didn't want you. I didn't want anyone at all." She looked away, back to Cassandra. "I didn't want a man to come in and take my place."

Cassandra looked startled, and she finally set the child down. He didn't leave, tugging at her leg to be picked up again, but Cassandra was too busy looking at Evelyn to shake him away. "That wouldn't have happened," she said. "You are the Inquisitor."

"And when have I ever been qualified for that?" asked Evelyn furiously. "What do I have to recommend me but this?" She thrust out her hand. palm flashing a sickly green under the bright, unforgiving sun. "I was trying. I was doing better. But if Knight-Commander Rutherford was all you said, he would have swept me aside in an instant. If he could survive a nightmare like Kinloch, if he could hold together a broken cesspit like Kirkwall… if he could even earn _your_ respect in doing it, then I had no chance. And I wanted a chance. The Inquisition is the only thing I have left, even if I'm not worthy of it."

Silence rose between them. Dorian looked stricken, but he never moved, and Solas and Cassandra's stoic expressions were only slightly softened. Evelyn stood in the ring of them, breathing heavily, looking at the grass beneath her feet and fighting for control.

"If you said no to recruiting me, why are you here?" asked Cullen.

He tried to make his voice soft, but she flinched anyway. "I needed a way to get to southern Ferelden without my usual complement of protectors," she said. "To meet Dorian's father without interference. But I couldn't come up with a reason that Leliana would accept to let me go alone, much less Cassandra, until I remembered that you lived here. I told them I'd changed my mind. That I'd seen their wisdom. And I convinced them that you'd be put off by a show of force, that I needed to approach you softly. As a woman, not a symbol."

She flushed, and Cullen closed his eyes as she continued. "I told them I would charm you, if you could be charmed by a woman, and that I needed Dorian if you couldn't be. I agreed to protections until just outside of Honnleath, then I would continue on with only him. They agreed with my plan. That's how much they wanted you there," she said with a touch of bitterness. "Only I never intended to come here at all. I would do what I needed to do, then go back and tell them that you'd refused again, despite my best efforts."

Cassandra growled, and Evelyn looked at her with a blend of anger and resignation. "Yes, I know. Another poor decision by your leader," she said. "But it was the only way. It worked exactly as I expected. Until it didn't.

"I still don't know what happened, not really. I don't know how I ended up here. When I woke up and realized what was happening, I was terrified. I knew this might finally be the thing they wouldn't forgive. You told me Cassandra was already on her way, and I knew what that would mean. And then you told me your name, and I saw how I might save everything."

Cullen finally looked at her again, and her fists were so tight against her thighs, and her eyes so lined with grief, and he still couldn't touch her. "But if I'd agreed, wouldn't you have lost your position regardless? By your calculations, anyway."

Evelyn blinked away a single tear. "With you to bargain with, I had a chance. Without you, I had none."

"Inquisitor," said Cassandra softly. "We would not have been so cruel as all that."

"You might have. You were the one who begged me not to let you regret your choice," said Evelyn, and Cassandra didn't reply. "You need my hand. That's the only part of me that's indispensable."

That seemed to be the end of her words, and Evelyn stood in front of him like a petitioner waiting for sentencing. Cullen had seen the same posture in the mages who'd come before Greagoir or Meredith, the ones who'd known they'd broken the rules, but also knew that the punishment they would take far exceeded the infraction. The ones who'd truly sinned were never sorry.

But he still remembered the joy of her lips, and the taste of her was burning to ash on his tongue.

"I understand the position you were in," said Cullen, with effort. "And your actions. You were serving a higher purpose."

"I was serving myself," said Evelyn in a low voice. "Only myself. Until I wasn't."

She stepped closer to him, and this time he didn't move away. "Oh Cullen," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. You were nothing like I expected. How could I ever expect someone like you? A man who ran towards the danger. A man who found a stranger full of magic he should hate and brought her home anyway. A man who's warm and gentle and nothing at all like a monster. There was no file to tell me how kindly you smile, how softly you speak, how you'll read fairy tales to a sleeping girl to give her peaceful dreams. I didn't think it was possible that I could trust someone so completely, or so easily, in this world that's been trying to kill me since I refused to die.

"I didn't know that I would be the monster," she said, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn't know that I was the one who judged without knowing, who hated without seeing. The terror that you would find out what a small, bitter person I am has been an ache inside me ever since I realized how wrong I was about you. But that was nothing compared to now, when you know for certain that I failed you even before we met. I couldn't bear it if I lost your regard now. Please forgive me. Please."

There was nothing to forgive. She'd only spoken the truth about him. Her instincts were good. Cullen knew better than she did that he was a monster. He'd done things that he could never take back in this life or the next. There had been a reason he'd refused the position before he'd ever seen her face.

He opened his mouth to tell her so when she said in a small voice, "Come to Skyhold. Lead the Inquisition, as you always should have. I'll step aside for you."

Terrible suspicion flooded him, then, and he paused. He cut a quick look at Cassandra, to see if this was another game that they were playing. The Seeker would know well enough that he had sympathies that could be played on. This could be their way inside.

But as soon as he looked away from her, Evelyn cried, "Oh!" in an anguished voice and turned away herself. Towards the woods and away from his home.

"This is your fault!" she said furiously at Dorian before kicking off her single shoe and running off. She disappeared more quickly than Cullen would have believed possible, and none of them moved.

Cullen stared at them all in turn. Dorian was her best friend, but he only crossed his arms. Solas was her fiercest guard, but he made no move to follow. And Cassandra only leaned down to pick up his patiently tugging nephew once more and lift him into the air.

"You're just going to let her leave?" asked Cullen, not bothering to disguise his disgust.

"The laws of romance dictate that you be the one to follow, Knight-Commander," said Cassandra.

Had she said that she'd decided to abandon the Maker in favor of the Qun, Cullen couldn't have been more surprised. His anger derailed almost completely as he stared at her. "You… what?"

"I am very well-versed in them," she said evenly. "And when one party gives a speech to another declaring their love and then runs away in pain, the second goes after them to mend the sorrow. It's quite clear."

"She didn't say anything about love!" said Cullen. That was one thing he knew for certain. He would have remembered that.

Dorian rolled his eyes so hard that he nearly lost them. "Even you cannot possibly be that thick, Cullen. Tell me so, immediately, else I may retract every kind thing I've ever said about you."

"Go," said Solas, in a voice of command. "You know where she is, I trust."

Yes, he knew. "Why did she say it was your fault?" he asked Dorian before he left. "What was your fault?"

"I convinced her that you were a man who wouldn't hold past ignorance against present understanding," said Dorian. "I convinced her to hope. Prove me right, would you?"

* * *

Evelyn sat in the place where he'd first found her, at the place where the vanished Pride demon had fallen to his axe. Cullen stopped at the edge of the trees, beyond her knowledge, and simply watched her in her isolation. His heart ached for her and how lost she looked. He wanted nothing more than to feel her smile against him again, to hear the high sound of her laughter, to see her running through a field without fear. She'd become so important to him. More important than he would have ever believed a stranger could be.

Who needed someone to manipulate him when he'd already fallen willingly into every trap?

She didn't look up as he approached, and he realized she was reading something that rested in her lap. Her lips moved, releasing words into the noon light, and he wondered if she was praying. He'd never seen her pray, before.

"Blankets for refugees. The widower in Redcliffe. The survivors of Sahrnia. The elves from Halamshiral. Haven. Connor."

He let her continue without interrupting, the list spiraling out into the world, and eventually she seemed to reach the end. One last breath, and then her brown eyes met his own with a hint of anger. "It's not enough."

"What was that?"

Evelyn held up a piece of paper with crabbed writing on both sides. "Reminders that the Inquisition has done some good. People we've touched with kindness. That even though I've been sold, it wasn't for nothing," she said. She looked away. "But the price was too high."

Her usually carefree manner was gone, so completely that he wondered again if it had ever existed. "The Inquisition is saving the world," he said, and he meant it.

"Yes," she said. "Cassandra and Leliana built an organization that can withstand anything. Even me." She let the paper drop and took another slow breath, seeming to order her thoughts. "I started keeping this at the beginning, when I thought my anger at my situation would never fade. I was furious that I'd been given this. All I wanted to do was run, but that was the only thing that was more dangerous than staying. I've never been a brave person, on the whole."

Cullen walked to where she sat and sank to the ground beside her. Close enough to hold hands, if they chose, but neither of them reached out.

"I disagree," he said.

She didn't seem to hear him. "But the longer I stayed, the easier it was to keep staying. While we were still in Haven, at least. Leliana and Cassandra and Josephine and I, trying to fix what was broken. And we were doing it. I met so many people who needed so little. They didn't need me to be holy. They just needed me to be kind. So I helped them. And my list got longer. And we closed the Breach. And I remember thinking, so clearly, underneath that newly mended sky that yes, this was worth what I'd lost."

"What had you lost?"

Evelyn laughed a little. "My life. My family had been a good sort, as families go - nothing like yours. You have such a wonderful family, Cullen. I always imagined I would come home to find my own just like this one day. That they would change into what was supposed to be instead of what was. But now half of them want to use me for their own advancement, and the other half think I'm a heretic. My father disavowed any connection with me when Leliana contacted him. He said no daughter of his would ever claim to be sent by Andraste. He said I was a demon, ripped out of the Fade to bring ruin to the world," she said. When he snarled low in his throat, she finally glanced at him. "I don't think I'll ever be going home again."

She shrugged. "It would have been worth it, then. But after Haven… everything changed. We weren't fighting a random event, or some isolated plot. I was a target. And worse, I couldn't just be someone who helped. I had to be someone who healed."

Cullen shifted silently. "What does that mean?"

"We were in the Frostbacks, and a Reverend Mother named Giselle, the only one willing to work with us at that point, sang a song. The same one you did at dinner last night, actually. I wondered then if you knew what you were doing. She certainly did. It was like some spell, a trick of the Fade, that transformed me from Evelyn, erstwhile Herald, into a goddess. And goddesses don't get to have true names," she said. "Giselle was very clever. Solas knew it straight off, what had happened to me, but it took me a little longer to figure it out.

"I thought I'd lost my life before, but that was just the trappings. Now I've lost my entire identity. When you found me, you didn't even know my name. No one does anymore. Parts of my memory are gone, from the Conclave, and now here. When I speak, my voice is too loud, and instead of aiding people I kill them instead. I make choices in a room, and the ravens go out, and what comes back is death."

She wiped at the corner of her eye and sniffed. "Worst of all, I've lost my faith," she said. "It's hard to talk to Andraste when she's supposedly raised you so highly. You can't pray to an equal. I wonder how she did it, with the Maker. Maybe it's different if it's someone you love."

Evelyn broke off there, and he watched her face, smooth as marble and no more readable.

"Why did you run?" he asked. When she frowned, he clarified, "Out here. After you told me to come to Skyhold. Did you not mean it?"

"I meant it. I wanted you there with me more than anything in this world," she said. Her face never cracked, even on the past tense that cut through him. "But you looked at Cassandra. You wanted to know if it was a trick. If I was a trick. I've stopped being Evelyn to you, too. I'm just the Herald, now. Again. It's okay. In some ways, it was inevitable. It's been like a dream here with you, Cullen, but dreams always fade."

She folded the page again and put it in the pouch she wore at her belt without looking at him. "I thought that if I was the Inquisitor, if I fully committed to it, that would be enough to make me better than I was. More. But the Inquisition took my past. Then it took my present. Now it's taken my future, and it's too much. I don't know what I'm going to do. But it can't be this. Not anymore," she said, sighing.

She stood and brushed herself off. "I need to talk to Cassandra, I think. I never thought I'd live long enough to fall in love with someone," she added, almost to herself.

And there it was. The thing he was supposed to fix. "If I asked you, would you stay here with me?" asked Cullen impulsively. "Not as the Inquisitor. As yourself."

Evelyn's mask broke into astonishment, and she seemed to be genuinely considering it before her face drew into sadness. "No," she said, and his heart shattered.

She was about to say something else when Solas broke through the treeline at a run. "The Venatori are coming," he said without preamble. "Get back to the house. Now."


	7. Killing Fields

The house was chaos.

Dorian was arguing with Cassandra that the Rutherfords along with their children should evacuate to the nearest house and take shelter, while Cassandra seemed adamant that that would only bring more people into danger. Mia practically vibrated with fury alongside them, screaming at a suddenly-present Darren that he should have stayed away, while his brother protested that a young boy had said there was trouble at the house and he was needed.

"What boy?" shouted Mia, and Darren shrugged helplessly. Mia held her youngest son, while the two older children clung to each other with wide eyes. The war hadn't been to Honnleath, not yet, but no part of Ferelden was entirely untouched. They were old enough to know what this was.

"It's better when they're together. They're stronger," said Cole's voice in a small whisper, and Cullen knew without looking that there would be no one there.

Solas and Evelyn dove into the fray, the elf implacable and Evelyn terrified. "I said they would be safe," she kept saying. "I promised. Cassandra, I promised them."

"You should know better than to make such promises, Inquisitor," snapped Cassandra, and the smaller woman paled.

Alice put a shaking arm around Evelyn, who'd closed her eyes, and Cullen was fiercely proud of his sister for her compassion. "What should we do?" said Alice quietly. Cullen wondered if she was asking him.

Solas answered instead. "We must decide quickly. We have perhaps fifteen minutes until they arrive."

"Then the family needs to leave!" said Dorian heatedly. "Before it's too late to go unaware."

"It is already too late to make it so far," said Cassandra. "Perhaps an outlying building. The barn. Somewhere away from us."

"Where we cannot protect them?" said Solas. "The Inquisition should be the barrier between them and the enemy, not the other way around."

"I can fight," said Darren. "We aren't helpless.'

Dorian shook his head. "These are powerful mages, not slipshod, half-starved bandits. And a healer can't risk himself on the front line."

"I'll do what I must for my family," said Darren.

"Then do what is prudent and not what is satisfying," said Solas in a voice that brooked no dissent. "You'll remain with your sisters."

"I'll go to them," said Evelyn, so very quietly, but the words cut like a knife through the din of the room. Her eyes were open again, and she looked steadily at Cassandra. "I'll go. They'll take me, and they'll leave, and everything will be fine. I'm what they want."

"Absolutely not," said Cassandra.

"Out of the question," said Solas.

"For all we know, I could be what they want," added Dorian, a mulish expression on his face.

"No," said Evelyn in a tired voice. "Even if they did, they'll want me more." She tried to smile, then, and Cullen wondered how she could ever think that she wasn't brave. "I know that you all will rescue me. Somehow."

"They'll kill you before we have a chance," said Solas. "Corypheus has no interest in your continued existence."

Mia made a noise of distress and sought out Cullen's eyes. He saw a knowledge reflected in them that he hadn't ever wanted his family to learn. That sometimes war was only bad choices, one after another, until the people fighting couldn't remember that there had ever been such a thing as good. But he saw something else, as well. That he was the one they'd always believed could fix anything.

Alice's face said the same thing as she fought to hold the Inquisitor, who was trying to extract herself to run to her death.

So Cullen moved. And he didn't think. "No," he said, catching Evelyn just as Alice let her go. "This isn't the way."

"I promised them, Cullen," she said, broken against his chest. He remembered what she'd said about not being able to be the way things were. She thought her future was gone. "I promised you."

"And I promised you," he said softly. "I said you'd be safe. You can't do this."

"Don't make this harder for me!" she snarled, pushing against him.

Cullen held fast, looking down into those brilliant, expressive eyes that held him just as tightly in their grip. "I'll make it impossible," he whispered. "I love you. Evelyn. Always and only Evelyn, for me. Please don't break my heart."

From somewhere behind him he thought he heard a longing sigh. He was slightly terrified that it was coming from Cassandra, but he never looked away.

"You're lying," said Evelyn.

"Never to you," Cullen promised. He took a deep breath. "I'll be your Commander."

Before he could lose his nerve, he turned back to the rest of the group. "Solas, how many are there?"

"A dozen, Commander," answered the elf without hesitation. "They carry some magic with them, but I'm unsure how many."

Manageable. "Cassandra is right, it's too late for my family to move outside of the walls, and an outlying building won't offer protection. Mia, take them all to the root cellar. Dorian, go with them and ward the trapdoor to give us warning if they're found. You know how to place them so they won't be seen?"

Dorian frowned. "I use the same magic as the Venatori. The same instructors and schools. I can't guarantee they won't sense it," he said.

"I can do it," said Solas. "My magic is unlike anything they'll have encountered. And I can also add an element of silence to the wards, to muffle any noises from underneath the floor."

Cullen raised his eyebrows. He'd never heard of any kind of magic that could do that, but the elf seemed certain. "Do it. Alice, while you're down there, you go to work on the other exit, the one into the yard. It's completely overgrown, but make sure that the hinges are in working order as best you can. You might need to escape that way, if things go poorly. And you'll be the runner, for help, if its needed. Cassandra, where is the nearest Inquisition outpost?"

"We've stationed a new patrol about three miles outside of the city," she said. "At the inn to the west."

"I know it," said Alice.

"Don't go unless you have no choice," said Cullen seriously, and she nodded. She flew into his arms quickly, giving him a very un-Commanderlike bear hug, but he supposed he could lose a little dignity to hug his little sister.

"Maker guard you all," said Cassandra, and they filed out. Cullen pushed his fear away alongside them.

Evelyn squeezed his hand, and he gripped hers tightly before letting go. "Cassandra, you'll take up a position outside of the house. How far can your Seeker abilities reach?"

"I'm out of practice. Perhaps a hundred yards."

"That should be fine. Dorian, I want you to place traps around the approach to the house. You said they'll be able to sense your magic. Obvious without being too obvious. I want them together, to stop them from flanking us. Herd them between the barn and the house," said Cullen. Dorian nodded and went to begin his task.

Cullen turned to the place where he thought Cole was. "Flanking will be your job, Cole. You can be invisible to them?"

"I can be invisible to anyone," said Cole, behind him. "They won't remember me."

"Oh," said Cullen, spinning around to look at the boy's sunny face. "Good. Are you any good at killing?"

"I let the pain out," said Cole, a dagger flashing in the window's refracted light. "I'll be here for you, too, when you're done."

"That's… nice," said Cullen, hiding his sudden discomfort behind stoicism. "Get behind them when they come. Avoid Dorian's wards."

"And what am I doing?" said Evelyn. "I won't sit in here like a piece of cheese in a mousetrap while the rest of you do the work."

Cullen gave her a serious look, even as he brushed the hair away from her face with a gentle finger, and he tried once again not to think. _Remember that you love her. Remember that you'll keep her safe. Nothing else matters._ "No, you won't. You'll be with me. We're going to exchange you for my life."

* * *

Once everyone understood the signals, Cullen spoke to Solas one more time, in a side room, well away from Cassandra and Evelyn's sharp gazes. This was a part they couldn't know.

"Are you sure, Commander?" asked Solas after he'd explained what he needed.

"Yes," lied Cullen. "I'm sure."

He took the blue bottles from the elf's outstretched hand and stared at them. They were the color of nightmares that lived in the day, the feeling of terror on the back of his neck, and they were the surest path remaining to everyone's survival. With luck the pain would hold off long enough.

"These Tevinter Venatori have never faced a true Templar," he said quietly, uncorking a bottle and swallowing it in a single motion.

* * *

Cassandra knew immediately, as soon as he and Evelyn stepped out of the house, and he saw the flash of surprise and a little anger in her face as they passed where she hid. He also saw the resigned knowledge that it was far too late for her to do anything about it, even if there'd been a way to undo it, and even in his floating state he had to respect her pragmatism.

Lyrium always started out with a coolness, a tingle in the belly that spread to the outlying body as it worked through and connected to the Fade in all of the places he remembered. That was still true, and he rode it with the familiarity of an old lover as it began. But he hadn't realized how heady it would be after such a long absence. It wanted to slide his mind away from his body, to rise above it all and drift for a time, and it took all of his iron self-control to keep himself tethered to this world. And that meant he had none to spare to control the memories.

Every step was a step into a new hell, a memory of Kinloch and Kirkwall and the space between them when he'd been nearly out of his mind with grief and rage. Where and when he was shifted like the wind, and the only two constants were the steady, brilliant light walking next to him in the form of a small rogue, and the need to protect what was his until the sharp edge of death was part of him once more.

As soon as the wave was under him, he took the second bottle out and drained it. The reservoir deepened, the sun above him flared, and he bared his teeth in a sharp smile as he tossed the empty glass aside. Blood magic was close by, and he was ready.

"Cullen," whispered Evelyn next to him, and he turned to her with great effort. "Are you okay?"

The ground beneath her changed to the grey stone of the Circle Tower, then the courtyard at the Gallows, then back again. There were bloodstains everywhere he looked. But she was so beautiful, her concern a physical thing, and she glowed like a candle flickering in a windowsill. He blinked, slowly, and brought the world back, but she was still glowing. The anchor on her hand was magic, and when the magic was part of this woman there was nothing more perfect in Thedas.

"The world is singing again," he said, then shook his head to clear it as her eyes narrowed. "I'm fine. Be ready. Keep everyone safe. They need you."

"I need you," she said, but it was a soft sound, and she smiled a little.

"I love you," he said again, and then the intruders were there.

* * *

It was easier to stay focused with enemies in front of him.

"Our friendly farmer!" said the man on point. It was the short man he'd met in the woods, a spy with only a trace of accent, though he'd allowed it to come back now. "I must admit I'm honestly impressed with you, Ser Rutherford. Even I, suspicious as I am, never suspected a lie. If you want to turn agent for the Imperium, I'll get a handsome finder's fee for the acquisition."

The rest of the group fanned out into the yard, another eight men. Three less than the dozen, and the tall one, the mage, was nowhere to be seen either. So some had circled around. Cullen hoped Dorian was on them. At least this time he didn't have to rely on rings and amulets to tell who the mages were. The cool blue fire racing through him was more than enough to find the Fade that rested in all but two of them. This was going to be worse than he'd suspected.

"Of course, that presumes you survive this," said the short man with a pleasant smile. "Right now, your chances are rather slim."

"If you know who I am, then you know I'm not Ser anything anymore," said Cullen. "I just want you to leave us in peace."

He was heartened by the strangers' apparent willingness to speak first. The biggest danger had always been that they would kill them immediately, but it seemed that these Venatori were the type that liked to talk. Unsurprising, given Dorian's love of grandstanding, but one never knew.

"Then why did you lie to us?" asked the smaller man with faux sadness. "More importantly, why should we believe you now?"

Cullen shrugged. "There were only two of you, and the Inquisitor is a lovely woman even near death," he said casually, nodding to the woman who stood silently beside him. She was doing her best to look cowed and exhausted instead of angry, but it wasn't a natural look. He gestured again to the waiting enemies. "There are quite a few more of you now. It's not worth all that."

"And yet you have a mage lurking around here, attempting to harm us. A very familiar one, I believe."

"Insurance only. In case you weren't reasonable."

The small man smiled. "I'm prepared to be very reasonable. And Inquisitor, how nice to see you again. Very well, Rutherford, what do you propose?"

"You take the Inquisitor, like you want. You don't hurt her. You leave three men here. After I'm sure you're gone, and she's still alive, I send those men, with Dorian Pavus, after you. I never say anything to the Inquisition about any of this, and that's the end of it."

"And what's to prevent me me from simply taking them both, killing you, and burning down everything around me?"

"You assume you could find him. But also, do you really have the time to waste? He told me quite a bit about your boss while we waited for her to recover. It doesn't sound like he's the patient sort," said Cullen. "Besides, Honnleath isn't the site of a war. You burn it down, you kill me, the Inquisition will notice. They've been after me for awhile, to get me to join up. They check in periodically. This way, you get out cleanly." Cullen was rambling now, a little alarmed that he hadn't heard the signal from either mage that they'd taken care of the stragglers. He wondered how long he had before the Fade inside of him twisted into agony.

"An interesting set of points," said the short man, and Cullen realized with a start that he was waiting for his own signal. The all-clear from his scouts.

Just when he thought they'd be waiting forever in the paralysis of banter, the three missing mages pushed themselves into the circle, along with a fourth figure. "Look who we found," said one of them, and Dorian looked up with a rueful expression.

"My apologies," he said. "I wasn't really designed _not_ to be seen, you know."

Cullen snarled softly. Hopefully Cassandra understood enough of what he would do that she would protect Dorian. Somehow.

The Inquisition mage suddenly smiled in his most exuberant way. "Caius! Dear me, old school friends do just seem to pop up everywhere now that the cult is in town. If you wanted to catch up, all you needed to do was send an invitation," he said. He lowered his voice confidentially. "And for the record, bondage doesn't excite me in the least."

The small man, Caius, shook his head. "Dorian, the years will never change you. Your father always found you so disappointing. I begin to see why," he said. "The Inquisition? This southern… hellhole? Corypheus would have welcomed you with open arms."

"Well, on the southern charms you have a point, but I'm fairly certain the only time your master opens his arms is to crush someone to death inside of them." Dorian shrugged. "But thank you for bringing me close enough to do some real damage. Sitting in the woods was rather dull."

"You're a death mage," said Caius. "A necromancer. Your runes were barely convincing. Spare me the false confidence."

Dorian shook his head. "Why does no one think that a death mage can't hurt living thing as well? One of those mysteries, I suppose."

From his bound hands, he shot a bolt of lightning directly into the man behind him - and given their relative heights, even Cullen had to wince at the landing site. And not just because the pressure against the Veil shot through him like an arrow.

One of his other captors growled, but Caius waved him off. "Enough. He'll recover. We need to focus on the Inquisitor," he said. He turned back to Cullen. "I'm afraid you've lost your leverage. And I've lost my patience. It was a good effort, considering your weak position, but I'm done now. And my master wants to see this Inquisitor again."

"Why?" asked Cullen.

"You mean you weren't after me?" asked Dorian at the same time.

Caius smiled. "Oh Dorian. You've never been as important to anyone as you are in your own mind. Our Inquisition contact wanted us to capture you, of course, but why bother taking bait when the true quarry is at hand? And as for why the Inquisitor, you won't understand it in the least. But I'll still show you."

He raised his hand and muttered something, clutching at an amulet on his throat, and Evelyn's hand suddenly sparked and groaned. She grunted and clutched at her wrist, fighting for control, but even Cullen could see that it was a losing battle. And then there was no more time to wait for Solas, or for anything else. If she released demons, here, they were all dead.

"Protect Dorian," shouted Cullen. Before he had time to hear any acknowledgments, he pulled the blue fire that was consuming him out of his bones, out of his very soul, and sent a Smite out over the largest circle of mages he could reach.

* * *

Things grew hazy after that, a little out of focus, and not just because of his dancing, shifting mind. Cutting off the connection to the Fade for so many had been difficult even in the peak of his training, and that was well-behind him now. Cullen pulled as much power as he could, riding the edge of pain and hearing the screams.

Which blood mages were screaming this time? There had always been more.

He realized, dully, that Evelyn's hand had stopped flaring, that Cole had appeared in the center of the mages, that Evelyn was meeting him on the other side. He thought he saw Dorian punch someone in the face with surprisingly good technique, even though his own magic must surely be gone. Solas appeared, and for such a gentle man his fire burned hotter than any Cullen had ever seen.

The Venatori mages within his influence seemed dumbfounded, stupid, and a little lost, as most mages were the first time they were truly parted from the Fade. A young mage at Kinloch, a friend, had once described it as feeling like her feet and hands had switched places, and she was having to learn to move all over again. The Venatori were clearly not as quick of a study as she'd been. But he also saw the escaped mages, the ones that weren't in his circle, and they were coming for him.

He had no time to deal with that, no energy to care, and he only hoped that his allies could kill enough of them to make the rest of the fight manageable once he inevitably lost his hold. His life. Instead of running, he took his final bottle of lyrium and maintained the Smite, the open points of connection to the Fade burning lines inside of him. Maker's breath how had he ever survived feeling like this for so long?

Then the men running at him collapsed in their own agony, and he saw Cassandra running toward him, her own brow furrowed in concentration, her sword gleaming. She was the knight in the story, and he was the helpless maiden. He laughed, power flaring, exhaustion creeping in, and he surrendered himself to the chaos of battle.

* * *

When he came back to himself, the Inquisition was arguing, as it always was. The green grass was sticky with dull brown, a hazy maroon color that he knew too well, and there were dead and dying bodies all around. A boy in a hat crept silently through them, giving mercy where it was lacking, and Cullen counted twelve. It was enough.

"Mother Giselle would never want me dead," said Evelyn. "She wants me to save her stupid Chantry."

"The Chantry is not stupid," said Cassandra. "And neither is Giselle. I agree with the Inquisitor."

Solas's voice was steady even when it was raised. "Agree or disagree, it makes no difference to the truth. I heard the men speaking. Your Chantry woman contacted the Venatori and told them of Dorian's possible travel plans. I believe she was hoping to eliminate an… inconvenience to the Inquisition by allowing him to be captured. A foolish and ill-thought out plan, at best. Which is why the Chantry should stick to handing out blankets and food rather than meddling in things they have little hope of understanding."

"All that effort for little old me? I am aware that I can be very inconvenient," said Dorian. "Particularly around mealtimes. But does she think I'll be performing blood magic in the Great Hall?"

"Perhaps she thinks you already have been," said Solas.

Dorian snorted. "If I were controlling dear Evelyn's mind, I can assure you she would be much more agreeable than she currently is."

Evelyn kicked him, leaving a red bootprint on his cloth pants.

"I'm more concerned that the Venatori have seemingly gained a level of control over the mark," said Solas. "I would not have believed such a thing were possible."

Cullen let their words wash over him, so dismissive. Even playful. He wondered if they'd seen so many deaths that there was no need to feel them anymore. It would be something of a relief to know that there was still a place inside of him that mourned killing, even after he'd killed so many. Perhaps he hadn't yet ascended to that final level of callous inhumanity.

"I will see to your family," whispered Cole beside them. "They can't know what this looks like."

Cullen turned with great effort, but the boy was gone, pulling no more thoughts out of his mind to parrot back to him like a dream. Evelyn was in his line of sight, covered in rusted hues that matted her hair into a single wave of dull brown that hardened as she argued. She would have nowhere to wipe her stained daggers, because the grass had no spot that wasn't already marked. He wondered if any of the blood was hers.

That was the thought that broke him, finally, as she changed from the Inquisitor to a Templar trainee, one barely out of his first philter, who'd come to him in the middle of the Kirkwall battle covered in blood and weeping for everything that had happened. He'd begged to leave. Cullen had told him to fight on. That the battle was past any and all feelings, and that the Templars would always stand. He would stand, too.

The trainee had trusted his Knight-Captain and been bolstered by his rallying speech. Cullen had found him cut in two, buried in a pile of corpses, after the end. His young, terrified face was always the first and last nightmare Cullen saw.

And with that memory inside of him, and the last vestiges of the lyrium draining out and leaving only aching, yawning, empty pain in its wake, he stumbled behind the barn and was thoroughly sick.


	8. Healing Hands

The world was all voices.

"Heal him." Evelyn, indignant and demanding. Her hands would be on her hips, her face the burning of the sun.

"You ask the impossible." Cassandra Pentaghast, a hard voice that was curiously soft inside. Her concerns were all hidden, and she was not so unforgiving as Cullen had once believed.

"The Inquisition is impossible. Do it."

"This is not a physical wound, Inquisitor." Solas. Dry like paper but solid, somehow more real than the others. "I cannot heal it with a wave of my hand."

"Not if you don't try! You gave him the lyrium, Solas. You. Undo it."

"He understood the risk. He chose his path and would not be dissuaded."

"When has that ever stopped you from butting in?"

The voices faded away as Cullen went back to Kirkwall, to the minutes before the end of the world, and the voices were replaced by the sounds of metal on stone, boots tramping down the halls and breaking up knots of mages with their noise. The mages flocked like birds that gathered and rose on the roads between the carts, only these carts carried promises of pain. He was the pain, the stick that Meredith wielded, and he hated it.

A blood mage was in front of him. He'd tried to run to his family. He hadn't made it, and the punishment for his crime would be hard.

But as Cullen raised the whip, the pain flooded through him instead, and he welcomed it even as he screamed. This was what should have been.

"Stop!" said Evelyn, frantic now, no longer the sun but the frightened moon, pale and cold. "Stop, you're hurting him!"

The whip was gone, and Cullen was home again.

"As I said, this is no physical wound. It cannot be cured through magic when its pain is from magic. Fire can cauterize a wound, but it does little for a burn patient," said Solas.

"He will recover," said Cassandra, but her lies were rotten boards underfoot and easily broken. "He is strong. And he has done so once before, yes?"

"He did. But it wasn't this bad." Mia. The strongest arms and the fiercest heart, and wildflowers in the meadow that she picked for the table.

"He had not taken three times the allowed dose before. It might easily have killed him outright. But as it didn't, the shorter duration of ingestion will help him recover more quickly. We must have faith," said Cassandra.

"Faith is for children who are powerless to do anything but wish," said Evelyn. "I'm the Inquisitor. I don't have to wish. I have to help him. He did this for me."

Then there was the rushing of feet, and a coolness touched his forehead with delicate care. He was almost alone now, and he didn't know whether to rejoice or weep. He was sliding back to Kirkwall, into the nightmares that were real, when Cassandra's voice whispered, "Three bottles, Commander?" and tugged him back across the line.

 _I had to be sure._

She harrumphed. "This will only be romantic if it doesn't kill you."

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of him, but it quickly turned into a gasp as a piece of Fade clung at the open sores of his mind. He rolled away from her touch, realizing hazily that he was on a bed instead of the grass as he'd half-suspected. The footsteps came back, two sets. One real and one that echoed in the space that wasn't quite time.

"Should I let the pain out?" Cole. A beam of pure light, and there was nowhere to hide from the dagger of his mind. "It's not your fault that the Venatori came. They're thirsty, thieving, and Evelyn was their harbinger."

Cullen whimpered and felt the boy settle next to him. A light finger traced the shape of his face, and it was the pain of a splinter drawing from a wound. A thought, sharp and silvery, swam through his mind. No matter where he went, death would follow.

"This is wrong," said Cole. "You're next to tragedy, but you're not the cause. Bad things will always come to this world while there are bad people in it. Many times the things would be worse, if we were worse. You helped."

 _No._

"At Kinloch, there was a Templar who had served a long life, and he could no longer hold a sword or see when a mage was evil or merely there. When the fighting started, he would have drawn a weapon that held his own death. But you sent him away from that destiny, to fortify the doors to keep mages in. He was near one when the Tower fell, and he escaped into the world. He helped a frightened refugee when she needed a horse. There was a child, later. You were the wheel that spun him into life."

 _I killed so many._

"You saved more. Can I tell you your story?" asked Cole.

The hand never stopped moving over him, and he felt another warmth settle into his side. It was both familiar and new, and he was very afraid to touch it. A head rested on the hard space of his chest, and he stopped breathing when he understood who it was.

"I'll listen to your heart," whispered Evelyn as Cole began to speak once more.

"Cullen Stanton Rutherford became a Templar for the wrong reasons. Nobility and duty were the shoes on his feet, which are empty guides in any life. But the world knows how to use good hearts wherever they are," said Cole. "Even when they're in the dark."

Cullen walked through the halls of his darkest nightmares once more, following the sound of the last voice. Only this time he didn't walk alone. There was a boy, with cornflower eyes and an eager voice, to point to the light. And there was a woman, who never released his hand, to see it.

* * *

He felt less like he was drowning, after that, but the physical pain was more intense without the nightmares to drag him away from it. His mind protected him as best it could by drifting away, and he spent much of his time in a haze. Whatever time meant, anymore. It was hard to tell. Most of his time was marked by each heartbeat that craved and wanted lyrium more than anything in Thedas. More than he wanted to live, in some moments, but he kept living anyway.

Cullen had impressions of people coming in and out, some he remembered well and some he didn't. More voices. Dorian and Alice, arguing about the merits of Ferelden while he shook. Mia and her child, his sister telling stories of the grandparents the boy would never know. He tried to tell her he was sorry, for that, and for every pain he'd caused his family by being who he was, but she didn't seem to hear him. He wondered if his voice was disappearing into the Fade, too, along with the rest of him.

Cassandra gave him briefings on the Inquisition's forces, which would have amused him had he been capable of amusement with such a burning pit of need inside of him. Darren told jokes that wouldn't have amused him even healthy.

And sometimes he came out of his stupor to hear Evelyn's blue sky voice speaking over him in waves of joy.

"'Oh Ser, I've been locked in this tower by a very evil witch,' said the beautiful maiden." Evelyn's voice was Orlesian, but it was always hers. "'Fear not, my lady,' said the knight. 'You are always safe in my care.'"

The last was said with an appalling Fereldan accent, like a dog that had mastered speech, and Cullen struggled to organize his mind and come to the surface.

"His golden armor shined in the sunlight that streamed through the window into the maiden's small prison. His dark hair -" She broke off, muttering, "He should be blonde."

There was a pause and the sound of scribbling, then the voice returned. "His blonde hair and handsome face were filled with light, and the maiden felt the stirrings of lost hope. 'Will you truly deliver me, Ser? For she is very cunning.' 'If you will tell me her secrets, there can be no doubt of her defeat,' said the knight."

A sound of disgust rang out. "If you know her secrets, just defeat her yourself you silly girl. Princesses. Anyway. 'I, Cullen Stanton Rutherford, do solemnly swear it by the name of the most Holy Maker.'"

 _I don't sound like that._

Cullen opened his eyes and watched a wicked smile curve over her face. She held the battered book of children's stories in her lap as she sat next to him on the bed, and he wished he had the strength and will to reach over and pinch her. Dorian knew what he was talking about in some things, at least.

"You sound exactly like that," said Evelyn, leaning over and brushing a hand over his forehead. "Always swearing and declaring and standing on ceremony. It's gorgeous. But before we leave, I'm going to see you chase at least one sheep. It's enormous fun."

He closed his eyes again, in terror or exhaustion even he didn't know, and he felt her shift away. "Your fever is back. I need to get Darren."

 _Don't go,_ he tried to say, but he was already slipping back into the want that consumed him. But, he realized as he went, it had finally turned to want instead of need, and that was the beginning of the end.

* * *

The next time he rose, there were hands on him, and his stomach was bare.

"I'd mind a lot more that you keep sweating through your shirts if changing them wasn't such a beautiful sight," said Evelyn above him. "But I'm starting to feel like a bit of a lecher drooling over an unconscious man, so anytime you want to wake up would be fine by me. Cassandra says you're almost past it, you know."

Small, strong hands slipped around his waist, pulling him up and fumbling at his shirt hem in a very business-like way. He'd never felt less like business in his life as the want inside of him changed from something cool and blue to something hot and red. And that something wore the face of love.

His hips arched as she pulled the shirt away, over his head, and she gasped a little. "Cullen?"

"Evelyn," he whispered, and she was there. He opened his eyes to see her lit by moonlight in the darkness of the room.

"Are you okay?" She peered at him through the gloom, and her face was very, very close to his. He couldn't see the lights in her eyes, but he knew they were there.

He raised his hand and tangled his fingers in her wild, beautiful hair. "Yes," he said, and pulled her down into a demanding kiss.

She squeaked in shock and caught herself before she fell on top of him, but a few strokes of his tongue quickly had her moaning instead. His want for her was overwhelming everything else, and this haze was no more penetrable than the other had been. But he had to try, at least once, to make sure.

He tore himself away with effort and watched her lick her lips with an almost feral intensity. "Leave if you don't want this," he said harshly. "Please."

In response she crawled on top of him and pressed her mouth to his, and he lost himself in the sweet fog. Only he wasn't sweet, he knew. He was riding an edge of hard craving that terrified him, but Evelyn seemed as desperate as he was, in the snatches of understanding he was able to pull from what was happening. He tore a shirt from a body, and she whispered an affirmation. He nipped at soft skin, and she begged for more. He was fire-hot and she was dry wood set ablaze, and together they were an inferno that would tear them both apart.

After he was bare, and she touched him for the first time, he remembered nothing solid. Snatches of moans, the impression of flesh underneath his hands, a dark heat surrounding him and bringing him home once more. Tapestries of feelings and needs and haves woven together into something bigger than he'd ever known. It was big enough that he had no hope of understanding it, and he surrendered himself to the need.

Cullen took and took until there was nothing left to be had, and when he finally stopped she was underneath him, and he was so very tired.

His breathing slowed gradually, and Evelyn leaned up and brushed his lips with her own exhausted sigh. "Please tell me that wasn't just the lyrium," she said with a small laugh. "Because Maker forgive me, that wasn't even a tenth of what I want you to do to me. Sweet Andraste that was incredible, Cullen. You're incredible."

Cullen felt himself leaving again, but he struggled to open his eyes, to stare down at her sweat-drenched, tousled hair. He tried to touch it, but somehow it didn't seem to be there.

Her expression sharpened. "Don't fall asleep on me," she warned. "I mean, you can sleep, but you're heavy, and I might not be able to move."

She started to wiggle away, and he managed to fall beside her through some blessing of the Maker. Or the Fade.

 _Was that real?_

"Of course it was real," said Evelyn, her voice full of distress. "Cullen? Cullen, are you okay? Oh Maker."

That was the last thing he heard before he fell back into darkness once more.

* * *

The morning sunlight hit his face with a slap, and when he opened his eyes he was Cullen again. The lyrium was a distant call that would never die, but it was so far at the edge of hearing that it was nearly forgotten. He took slow stock of himself, finding a few new aching places in his mind and heart, but nothing that wasn't livable. The one thing that wasn't livable was the empty ache in his belly. He hoped there was food.

"Good morning," said an accented Orlesian voice behind him, and he rolled over with a grin and a teasing comment on his tongue.

It died when he saw the red-haired woman in fine mail and a purple hood staring at him. She smiled sweetly as he gaped. "It's good to see you again, Commander Rutherford. We are a long way from Kirkwall, aren't we?"

Leliana, the Left Hand, and a woman who made him shiver. She had a way of looking at him that seemed to imply she knew everything about him. Or if she didn't, she would soon, the look said, and that was never a comfortable place to be for someone like him. It was like being stripped naked, but to the soul.

That triggered a memory, and he stared down at himself in horror. He breathed a sigh of relief to see that he was fully, and very modestly, clothed.

Leliana laughed, a bell-like giggle that was as carefully crafted as the rest of her. "Your brother dressed you before I entered," she said. "He complained about it, but I convinced him."

No doubt she had. The only possible guard was an aggressive strike, with this one. "And what does the Inquisition's Nightingale want from me? Are you planning to relocate your headquarters here? It's not as grand as your Skyhold, from what I gather, but we do have less snow."

"My my, they told me you were practically comatose, yet here you are being absolutely charming with only a single blink of your eyes. I'm rather impressed."

"I'm glad. Where's Evelyn?"

Leliana crossed her legs. "She is writing a full report about everything that happened here, and before here, in very exacting detail. I expect it will take quite a long part of the morning to complete," she said with an easy smile.

He winced on her behalf. "I'm guessing that she also complained."

"She knew better."

Definitely shiver-inducing, but Cullen tried to stay brave. "You never answered my question."

"Why, I'm here to evaluate you, of course. Learn all those little secrets that only you can tell me," she said. "Though most people have very few of those, if I'm being perfectly honest."

"So this is a job interview?"

Leliana smiled again. "Commander, the position of leader of the Inquisition's forces has already been both offered and accepted, by my understanding. The Inquisitor chose you for the role, and her word is law. More importantly, Cassandra wants you to have it, and in military matters I always defer entirely to her."

 _And if you disagreed, I'd never set foot in your organization_ , thought Cullen sourly.

He frowned when she nodded as though he'd spoken aloud. But when she continued, she only said, "No, I'm more interested in a more… personal position that you seem to be applying for."

Cullen narrowed his eyes. "That seems even more outside of your responsibilities. And your control."

"The Inquisition can hardly have a Commander that compromises his duty for favor in the bedroom," said Leliana sharply, and he was just about to concede that she might have a point when she grinned. "Besides, this is too delicious to resist. Evelyn must have been so angry when she realized how very pretty you are."

He flushed, which only seemed to amuse her more. "I am a bit surprised it was so easy, though. We attended a gala at the Winter Palace in Orlais that was full of very handsome, very eligible men, and she seemed quite hard to please. The marriage offers haven't stopped coming, of course, but I sense they now stem entirely from politics instead of only mostly."

"Marriage offers?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course. She's one of the most powerful women in Thedas, unattached and young. And she is not herself unattractive, as I believe you have also noticed, Commander. Not that it matters, to those who show interest. Nearly every member of the Inquisition's inner circle has been deluged with offers, save myself. Where power flows, alliances seek to follow."

"No one wants to marry you?" asked Cullen, then blushed again as he ran the words back through his mind.

Leliana gave him an indulgent smile. "I'm sure that they do. But most know better than to ask. Bards don't wear their spouses long." She paused. "And, of course, Evelyn has little time to manage their expectations, given how often she's gone from Skyhold. She's out in Thedas constantly, doing good, spreading word of the Inquisition, solving all of those little problems that my ravens and Josie's letters can't touch."

Understanding dawned. "Why are you telling me this?"

The smiles and fripperies fell away. "Because it isn't easy to love someone who is in the position of icon, Commander. It isn't easy for either side. Wherever she goes, she will be adored or despised, and your duties will mean you won't always be able to be with her. She'll be buried in flattery, inundated with requests for attention that she'll have no choice but to grant. And you'll be no less sought after, once your appointment is widely known. Love flourishes best when it's the highest priority in a life, but neither of you will have that luxury," said Leliana. "You must understand this before you begin, because the Inquisitor is a woman of rash decisions and deep feeling, and that will be deadly if you do not handle her correctly."

He growled. "Her name is Evelyn, and I don't 'handle' her at all. I love her."

"Then that is a good beginning," said Leliana. "But if both of you are guided by simple feelings, the danger only increases."

"Then there will have to be danger."

Leliana nodded. "Cassandra tells me that you two are in true, romantic love that will last until the next Age, but she cannot be trusted in these matters. She has terrible taste in literature. I'll be watching, Commander. But I won't step in just yet."

Cullen refused to thank her for _not_ interfering in his life, and that seemed to amuse the bard once more. To his vast annoyance. He tried to find some sort of authority again. "I want this Giselle woman questioned. It was her doing, putting both the Inquisitor and Dorian and my family in danger."

"Oh my dear Commander. I've already asked her a great many questions. And I've received even more answers. But you may have your turn, when we return to Skyhold."

And that shut him up.

"One more thing," she added. "Evelyn told me that you two were intimate last night."

His eyes widened and he stared at his hands. Jumbles of desires and wants and desperate pleas flooded his mind, and he felt himself responding to the memories even under this terrifying woman's gaze. "Maker's breath, please don't ask _me_ any questions," he mumbled.

To his surprise, Leliana didn't laugh at him. "She's slightly concerned that it wasn't… something you were both interested in. That she may have taken advantage of a situation, unaware of its nature."

He looked back up, all embarrassment gone. "She said that?"

"I read between the lines."

Cullen frowned, then chose his words carefully. "If what I remember happening truly happened, there's no need for her to be concerned."

Leliana stood. "That's what I thought. While Cassandra is often misled regarding matters of the heart, when it comes to unbridled sexual attraction, Dorian is never wrong," she said. This time when his cheeks burned, she did laugh. "I think I'll give the Inquisitor a small break in writing her report."

* * *

Evelyn came in on quiet feet, her hands balled up into the sleeves of her tunic once more. "Leliana said you wanted to see me?" she asked, and it twisted his heart that it was a true question.

Cullen had managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and he worked the stiff muscles of his legs gingerly as he watched her. "I always want to see you," he said.

She visibly relaxed. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. The cravings are gone. For lyrium. I am very hungry. And I feel like I've been laying down for three days without moving."

"That's mostly true," she said, grinning, but her face quickly fell into fresh worry.

He stopped moving and leaned back. "Come here."

Evelyn approached cautiously, but she laughed when he reached out to pull her against him when she was close enough. She laid a hand on each of his shoulders to steady herself, and they stared at each other for a long minute, sinking into the feelings that swirled around them like an autumn wind.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said quietly, but there was no accusation in her voice. "Do you think you're the only one who has a heart that can break?"

"No," he said, tracing the line of her jaw. "But it was the best plan at the time." He cut her off when she started to protest. "As your Commander, my first priority will always be to keep the Inquisition strong. That means keeping you alive. You're its heart, Inquisitor."

She frowned, and the crease in her forehead reappeared. It took all of his strength to keep his lips from touching it, but this was too important for distractions.

"You said I was Evelyn," she said.

Maybe a small distraction. "You are," said Cullen, and he kissed her until he was certain she believed him. "When we're like this, when I'm with you and the world is gone, you're Evelyn. But that doesn't mean that's all you are. I won't always make choices you like, and I won't always do things in the way you want, but I promise I will always do what I think is best. I'll serve you and your cause."

"You don't have to," she said. Her gaze was steady on his. "I won't hold you to what you said. Mia doesn't want you to leave."

"Of course she doesn't. She's my older sister, and she knows I'll never write," said Cullen, laughing a little. "Will you stay here with me?"

She shook her head.

"Then I swear myself to your service, Inquisitor. You'll be my higher cause. Do with me what you will."

The grin that spread across her face had his heart pounding in a new, erratic rhythm. "Is the serious time over?"

"Yes," he said, threading a hand through hers and pulling her into his lap before thinking better of it. "Wait. No. No more slipping your protectors. At any time. For any reason. That's an order."

Her teeth were already nibbling at his earlobe, and he cursed his lack of mobility. "Evelyn."

"Mmmm?" she hummed softly, and he gave up trying to resist. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close as she explored him. And drove him mad.

"Are you sure you're not too tired?" she asked as she stripped away their clothing with as much haste as she could. Darren had put entirely too many layers on him, and it was taking her ages to unwind it all.

He smiled as she finally reached his overheated skin and played her fingers over his torso. "I'm not that old," he said, watching the delight run across her face.

"You're not old at all," she answered absently, tugging at the tie to his pants. "And I have a lovely ache between my legs to prove it. I hope the first of many surprises you have in store for me. Make love to me, Commander, and then we'll get you some breakfast."

"Yes ser," he said, and she kissed him as the knot gave away. They tumbled back against the bed, his hips rising up to meet hers where she straddled him. The heat in her eyes when she felt exactly how ready he was to execute that plan would keep him warm for the rest of his life.

"You did lock the door?" he murmured against her neck as she wiggled her own trousers away.

When she sat up and grinned, his heart sank. "Let them find us," she said. "Dorian's dying of curiosity anyway."


	9. Epilogue

It watched them leave through vision that was violet-tinged.

"I packed extra quills. And parchment," said Mia. "Use them."

Cullen sighed and put a hand to his head. "Yes, yes. I will."

"You won't. You never do. Evelyn, I will depend on you to monitor him. I want at least one letter per month, or we're taking him back." The older woman sniffed and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. "Please take care of yourself, Cullen."

"I will."

The air shimmered as they embraced, and it did the same as he lifted Alice off of the ground and clapped Darren on the back.

"I'll do my best to make him write," said Evelyn, "but your brother is very, very, _very_ stubborn." Her tone was annoyed but she, too, glowed in the day, and the watcher smiled when she put her hands on her hips. "Take your coin back. You almost died without it."

"I gave it to you," said Cullen, turning to cinch the tack on his horse.

"But you need it more than I do!"

"I don't. It's your luck, now. You'll be in the field much more often, and we both know you aren't careful. The Maker will watch over you, of course, but He'll need all the help He can get. What if the Venatori place a trap in the middle of a shepherd's field?"

Evelyn stamped her foot. "That wouldn't happen! And you're the one who throws himself in front of any little thing that might hurt me. Yesterday you practically put your back out when that horseshoe went a little off course."

"It was going to hit you in the arm."

"My arm would have survived. Your back, on the other hand, certainly would not have. Take it."

"You could just throw it away, if you're so adamant that you don't need it," said Cullen, but a smile lurked around the corners of his mouth as he glanced at her.

Evelyn made a noise like a hissing kettle and folded her arms.

"And this is true love?" asked Dorian, cocking an eyebrow at Cassandra.

"Oh yes," she said sagely. "All this bickering. It's exactly how you know they are destined for one another."

Leliana snorted. "So I should begin issuing invitations for your marriage to Varric any day now?"

"I… that is not the same thing," said Cassandra. "Don't do anything of the sort."

The bard made a non-committal sound and then there were two furious women in the yard. The Rutherfords prudently backed away, and the Inquisition swung onto its horses.

"I'm going to hide this stupid coin in your bags and then you won't even know you have it," said Evelyn grumpily as she led her horse to point.

Cullen overtook her easily. "But you just told me your plan. Very poor tactics."

"Don't ride ahead of me. I'm first."

"By the Black Divine, if you two don't stop fighting I will tear my hair out," said Dorian. "Which would mar my beauty irreparably and be such a shame for the rest of you who depend so much on it."

Evelyn looked over at her companion. "What do you say, dearest? Truce?" she said with a sweet smile.

Cullen leaned over and grabbed the tack of her mount, bringing them both to a stop, much to the consternation of the rest of the party. "Of course," he said, and kissed her as passionately as possible when the participants were on animals instead of unmoving land. When he pulled away, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a gleaming coin. "But I felt that."

He flicked the coin back to her with a lazy smile, and she bared her teeth back. They started off again, exactly beside each other.

"You should give it to me. I'm going to need to that coin's luck, to get through the rest of this trip," muttered Dorian, but the air around him shimmered as well when he snuck a sidelong glance at his beaming friend. "At least someone else will be taking the brunt of her snores."

Cullen looked back a little guiltily. "Oh, Leliana, I was going to ask if there were, by chance, quarters assigned for the Inquisition's Commander. I'm not sure it would always be appropriate, to have me sleeping in the same room as the leader of the organization -"

"Hey!" said Evelyn. "I'm not that bad."

"Of course not!" he said quickly. "It's just that, propriety…"

"Hmph. We'll see how you like the propriety of your own bedroll tonight," she said.

"I'll like talking my way into yours much better, love," he said after a small pause. Only the faint blush on his cheeks belied his smooth, low tones.

Evelyn clapped her hands and grinned. "Oh, you did that so much better! I'm very proud of you. Is it nightfall yet?"

"No, Inquisitor," said Leliana patiently.

"Drat. Okay, flirt with me more, Cullen. Before we reach that patrol and I have to be all serene again."

Their voices faded as they rode further down the road, and the spirit sighed wistfully. _Thank you, ancient one,_ it said, and the mind that was bringing it through nodded in acknowledgment.

"You did well to draw her here," said Solas. "You saved her life, certainly. You possibly saved us all. The Inquisition will be stronger, better able to stand with its new Commander." He narrowed his eyes as he looked after the riders. "And you've increased her happiness. It won't be forgotten."

 _Their hearts were right. They had bad dreams alone, but they will have good ones together,_ said Love. _Compassion understood as well._

"Yes, Cole understands much. But this victory was yours, my friend. Don't think I haven't felt your workings, even after I arrived. It wasn't always easy. Thank you."

Before the connection faded and the Veil drew between them once more, the spirit looked at the group that was woven with strong, thick strands of love. The two dreamers, Cullen and Evelyn, shone most brightly now, but they all had the capacity inside themselves for more. _This Skyhold must be a place of great opportunity for love._

Solas frowned, and the spirit felt it though it could see nothing. "Perhaps for a time. But little is permanent, on this side of the Veil. Here is the place where you can thrive. Go, and thank you again."

The spirit of Love glided back across the divide and felt the keen loss of that real world, the world of time that only moved in one way. The ancient elf followed his companions, out of Love's awareness, and it held on to the gratitude as best it could as it followed the group to the edges of its territory. The corded light between them all never dimmed, even when they were almost out of sight.

When the horses were gone over the horizon, Love turned back to its happy village and settled in to listen for more hearts that were beating as two, destined to become one. With luck, they would be less stubborn, this time.

* * *

 _A/N: The end! Thank you so much for reading this story; it's been a lot of fun to write, even though the challenge of writing something short appears to be very much beyond me. An extra-special thank you to Lavellan-ofthe-FreeMarches for the wonderful prompt that really caught my imagination, and gave me the opportunity to write something about the best Commander in Thedas once more. I hope you liked it, and that goes for everyone! Every fave, follower and comment was so very appreciated, and kept me writing like nothing else can._

 _Hopefully I will be back soon with a new muse and another story, but until then, happy writing and reading, and thank you again!_


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